Ibrat

Different opinions,
ways of living life;
too much water
under the bridge.

Unable to visit, not
wanting to see him;
he’s not the Father
you idealised, loved.

Years passed, water
passed, life passed;
no time felt right to
go and visit, talk.

You felt it before it
came; a knowing;
a death too quick
for you to digest.

He danced with
death deliberately
on his own; no time
to give anyone time.

You made your peace
with him on the telephone;
he said he has beautiful
children, then the guilt.

Another Ibrat for you to
understand, to learn from;
sitting here looking at
his box filled with ashes.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s