Poetry

Poetry – Driving with my Dad

Written by Anshul Jain

The morning dust was sleeping
Over the softened rectangles
But it was time to wash away the grains
And press down the pedals

He took the wheel and the car grumped
Dragging itself away from the door
He raised his brows and puckered his lips
And I pulled down the lever he had ignored

This age old question, older than him
Crawls its way into the backseat
I turn around to search for the parks
But they are lost somewhere behind the dust of the wheels

The roads smell fresh today
With tarmac pasted over an unpaved century
He finds it all too different, too changed
As he misses his traditional tapestry

The sun was out and it burned the ground
We looked for a space in the shade
But the trees had been buried after the war
And from brown we stood in gray

Those were tough times in the emergency
Some days were filled with horror
And your grandfather used to take us
To an elegant corridor

It was arched in myriads
As if everyone joined their hands
Time had scraped some of the walls
But had bestowed mercy on the rest

Where is it Pa, we could drive there
It’s on the next right from the fort
I think that’s the court you’re pointing to
Oh yes that’s the court son, maybe I forgot

I gave him his Panama, which he held so dear
And rested the torn white cup on his head
For him it was now a battered cover
Not a gift for the newly weds

In the middle of his sips he heaved a sigh
And told me he was proud of the life
Which I had led full of passion
And bitter truth, and childish lies

I knew about the tests and the smoke
But I had faith in you son
That little Ricky won’t go overboard
And I told him I was Aaron

We got inside, and I twisted the key
It was time to go back home
I’m sorry I have forgotten so much
But it wasn’t his fault

His mind was slowly drifting
Fading into oblivion
First it was the thick, dark locks
And now the names of my children

There’s a part of me that I have lost
And the candles have burnt out
I’m not the man I was dear Son
But you’re still my father, no doubt

About the author

Anshul Jain

Anshul Jain is an Economics undergrad at the University of Delhi. He is best described as the person searching for something better to do. Fascinated with words starting with F and ending with uck(like firetruck). He tries to find a purpose in life by trying to create meaningful art in any possible form he can.

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