My father’s Face

After age had turned my father’s face
A place wrinkles dig contours.
I watched his dreams drown
in the dirty ocean of resignation.
His mind,
His soul,
A party no woman wanted to attend
For what music does he hold?
Now that age has shuttered his vocals
Drained his coffers and left him.
The countless children (my siblings I guess)
And a milliard of grandchildren as reminds
Of his joys, valor and shortcoming!

But all my life,
I have fought with the string-thin relationship with my father
Refusing to accept the flaws of father
Wanting to stop the story before it’s over
Afraid of illuminating whatever was propelling him
To find my father as father
And love him as father

But my father is my father
And I can’t hide from his shadow,
I keep edging close to his engineering
Gradually becoming like him
Loving my mother like he loved his mother
Jjajja Yuliyana

So, when the plate of this world has been licked clean
When marriage is not the bed of roses
you painted in high school art books.
When ear drums are filled with songs that make you cry
And you still love it!
Then and may be then.
You too, will understand, your parents
And why they did, what they had to do.

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This is a wonderful blog for creative writing: a rich source of inspiration combined with a strong presence of the author.

Lisa Smith
Lisa SmithNY

I enjoyed every piece of it. How intelligent and delightful your writings are! Every single article belongs here.

Natalie Jackson

Those illustrations complete the charming atmosphere of your works. Smart decision on including them here and there.

John McGill
John McGillTX