Poetry: The Diary of My Father

 

As I sit by the lamplight's gentle glow,

And flip through pages of the past's sorrow,

A diary in my father's hand I find,

Unfolding stories of a life unkind.

My father, a boy with dreams so bright,

Ventured to the city, chasing the light,

With toil and sweat, he sought his way,

Through struggles and hardships, day by day.

He wrote of the dusty streets and smoggy air,

Of long hours of labor, beyond compare,

But amidst the struggles, he found solace,

In the vintage scents that brought him grace.

The aroma of coffee from street-side stalls,

The fragrance of jasmine from blooming walls,

Reminded him of his roots, his home,

In a city foreign, yet not alone.

He wrote of his pursuit of knowledge,

Of the books he read in a borrowed college,

How he worked odd jobs to pay his dues,

To fulfill his dreams and amuse.

He dreamt of me, his unborn child,

To be a big man, strong and mild,

He toiled tirelessly to make it so,

To give me a life he didn't know.

His words were etched with love so pure,

A father's heart, so strong and sure,

As tears fill my eyes, I realize,

The sacrifices he made, without any guise.

His dreams, his struggles, his unwavering love,

Are now a treasure I hold above,

For his journey, his battles, his unwavering grit,

Have made me who I am bit by bit.

I see now, the vintage feelings arise,

The dust and smog of the city, no surprise,

They bring a sense of belonging and pride,

As I read my father's words, I can't help but cry.

For he has left a legacy so grand,

A story of a brave and selfless man,

Whose dreams and struggles, inscribed in ink,

Have touched my heart, made me rethink.

So as I close his diary with care,

I'm filled with gratitude beyond compare,

For the lessons he taught, the love he gave,

Forever in my heart, he'll forever stay.