Underrated Hero

 

It starts from the day we come into this world

and after that it lasts forever.

Father is not just a relation

but a journey full of sacrificing endeavours.

We cannot thank you enough, ever.

 

You never stop watching over us, do you?

My childhood pictures were taken only by you.

In adolescence we walk right next to you, holding your finger

and in teenage, despite wanting to be alone, your watchful eyes linger.

No matter how old we get, you remain our silent singer .

 

Underneath that tough and quiet exterior

we all know that you are soft hearted just like mom.

Yet your wish to make us better

asks you to take tough calls. How do you do it?

That parent who accepts resentment for his child’s betterment.

 

Perfect balance of love and lectures, teacher and friend,

at times harsh but always fair,

Father you are hard to comprehend.

I pretend to be like you when I sit on your chair

and feel that overwhelming pressure that you withstand.

 

No child can ever document their father’s role

because there are some things you just cannot express.

Words too have limitations after all

Unlike my Father’s worry when I am a mess.

Father, the person we fail to call.

 

All we can say is a Thank You

and we will try to be a bit more like you.

It will be tough but it will be worth it.

Even though we don’t say this enough,

Father, we really really Love You.

 

You cannot say anything about this one man because he knows you more than you know yourself. He is your Father.

-Nishant, The Son.

Old strings new tunes

In the deepest corner of my room

6 old strings stood from distant past.

It wasn’t an accident that I discovered

Something which was already there since the start.

Many fond memories ran like a reel

Inside the projector of my heart

And then suddenly I started to feel

As if a sin had been committed on my part.

Old tunes stopped and strings never reverberated

Because I gave up on them,

Fallacy got me distracted.

I gave up on them.

Music was lost after a while

And I had to fill that void with noise.

We never love something which is not our style

6 old strings were my choice.

But now I am back and they are still there

Waiting to be played.

With old strings and new tunes I today declare

Resumption of my parade.

Even in the loudest nights now,

My tunes shall not fade.

We always return to the place we belong. We always find the things which are meant for us. Even though we walk away from them, life gets us back to them and it is at that moment when we realise that it was all meant to be.

Nishant, The Poet and the Pen

I was Me

Every time the dusk got delayed,

Or the morning sun felt harsh,

Sound of life seemed disarrayed,

Or water disappeared in the marsh,

Loved ones took a separate turn,

Old enemies met at the crossroads,

Water started to burn,

And decrypted were all my codes,

I came to this place I now call home.

 

There is always a place for me,

Here I am always allowed to be,

The person you see every now and then.

I cannot tell you how but,

The Poet and the Pen (my blog) saved me.

I was always Me.

 

Blogging has this beautiful thing in it. It makes you feel so special, so connected to yourself. Sometimes I find out so much about so many things when I sit behind this blog and dive into the World of Words.

Blogging is a good addiction and I am addicted.