When we hear the word ‘hero’, it conjures up stimulating images of super men (or women) with mind-boggling super powers, flying around and saving the world from villains and calamities. But when I hear that word, in my mind’s eye, I see my father.
Here is a poem which I wrote on him earlier this year:
He does not smoke cigarettes or alcohol he doesn’t drink,
He doesn’t own a Mercedes or with everyone perfectly sync.
He doesn’t own a business nor does he catch a wink,
But he is the perfect Role-model, or so I wish to think.
He doesn’t always pay attention to what I have to say,
But he’s always there for me, when I want him to stay.
He resolves all mysteries – unravels the missing link,
He is the perfect Role-model, or so I wish to think.
He has the perfect hair, a combination of silver n’ gray,
And he walks with a gleaming smile, atleast that’s what they say.
He seems omniscient, he answer’s without a blink,
Yes, he is the perfect Role-model, or so I wish to think.
He is extraordinary and divine, while I’m just a clone,
I’m the consummate fruit, of the seed he had sown.
He is my mirror – that is how I wish to be,
That is my interminable vision – something I always see.
But now I’ve decided,
That is not what I want to be,
He might be the finest of yesterday.
But I still want to be Me.
This is part of the Daily Prompts.