Fathers, as They Are

Tell me, what are fathers like?

When you're overcome with tears, do they come close and stroke your head? When sadness closes your eyes, do they kiss your cheek? When a nail pierces your foot and blood flows freely, do they break that nail to pieces in rage and tenderly bandage your wound with infinite care?

Tell me, how does it feel then?

What is a father's kiss like? When they scold you fiercely then pull you to their chest, does your heart flutter restlessly inside? Or does your mind become calm like a river?

Tell me, when you scrunch up your face and ask your father for money to go on a trip with friends, do you feel fear or joy?

When someone very dear breaks away and walks off holding another's hand, when your dearest friend among all friends breaks your trust, when you cry alone in your room under the weight of sorrow with swollen eyes—do fathers understand then that a storm has come and turned everything upside down... home, heart, doorways... everything? Do they then slip five hundred rupees into your hand and say, "Go out and get yourself something to eat"?

Tell me, if every home has a roof, a strong shelter overhead to stand courageously against storm and rain and sun, then why don't I have one? What understanding did God reach with me?

In my sadness, whom shall I hold close and cry against? When the storm breaks and blows my house away, which pillar shall I grasp to weather it? How can I raise my head and stand tall, shouting with pride... I have no fear! I am not alone!