पिता के लिए · For My Father

English

My mother used to say a lot to me,
but
my father never said anything to me,
and I never said anything to him.
Whenever I came before him
I would lower my head.
Mother had called me a good-for-nothing,
but my father
never asked me anything,
nor did I tell him anything.
Whenever he asked, “All well?”
I would just nod,
then stand there a long time, straight and quiet,
waiting for questions.
But his lips never moved.
I read all the questions in his eyes,
and he too heard everything through his eyes.
I used to think one day I would tell him
all that I had achieved;
there is time yet, so much still to do,
so much. But neither he spoke, nor I.
He would look into my eyes, and I into his.
Then suddenly those eyes closed,
and the questions too,
whose answers I still have.
I still carry them around.
Often I stand stunned,
with eyes full of questions,
whose answers are shouting
inside me, deep inside.
He must have waited for them.
Had his patience broken?
Had he given up on me?
How much I wanted
to open my heart to him,
to tell him one day:
I have done it,
what was impossible and hard.
But in vain.
All these answers, all these words,
restless, are turning into questions inside me.
Will my son give me their answers,
or will he repeat history,
like me?