The Father

By Shirley Jacob

The constructs of a father–
Who was once a young man,
A baby boy, weaned and built upon
What it is to be a man.

He took charge of the family,
A bond between man and woman,
But it was all man throughout,
A set of rules strictly followed.

Out of ignorance and blind faith
In tales of yore, posing as truths,
The boy in him tried to become
A father to girls that he begat.

What to do with these feminine beings?
He taught them maths and language,
Not wanting them to beg for a living,
To stand on their own feet.

He took support from his partner
To bring up his girls and himself,
Crushing his wife calling it submission,
An integral part of himself.

The girls grew and raised up families,
Sought their father in their husbands;
Girls ought not to have desires
But for raising up the next generation.

Financial prudence was his mainstay;
That was care, protection, and the future.
His toil and vigilance built a foundation,
Never again to hunger or to be in want.

He had known it quite close.
He didn’t want it for his girls.
Caring for his own came naturally,
The girls took wings just like he wanted.

Years went by, the wealth of experiences,
The misadventures, the false pride in status,
The misgivings from all around-
O! for the turmoil within generations.

His lofty vision for a secure future for the girls,
Only if he had an ear for their voices,
Would have not taken the beaten path
Of more wealth and less of spirit.

The kites flew strong and sturdy;
In the gushes of wind, it soared high.
Might be a good idea to let it loose
From the pull and push of its tow.

It will find its way through the wafts,
Fly over unknown lands, unexplored emotions,
Thread holding back, can’t fly higher;
Now unbound, it flew higher, farther.

The wind slowed down, the tug put away;
No help to stay afloat, no direction to sail.
The father longed for sharing the wisdom
With his girls and their families– of true grit.

The boy, the youth, the father, now an old man,
Worrying incessantly, even illogically at times,
Wanting only the absolute best for his girls,
Seeing them flourish in care and anchor.

The agony of the spindle and thread-
At the thought of kites wanting freedom,
To soar on their own, no tows, no tethers,
He learns to love – in spite of it all.