A very special day
where all the fathers celebrated
with their wives and children
on just this very Sunday.
Their deep-voiced chuckles
and wives' giggles;
the children would give their father
a messily-drawn picture as a gift
or just a card stating words of appreciation.
But also on this day,
there was one child who wanted to celebrate
this special Sunday with his father,
but was unable to do so.
He could merely stare at the framed picture
on his study desk
that was taken so long ago
on a summer day where they went out
and walked around the park;
disregarding the people who laughed
at his father's disability to walk.
And those people who pointed fingers
at the father's wheelchair as well-
he ignored everything and only listened
to the chirping of the birds and tranquil waves
that were crashing against the rocks,
like a boat going against the current tide-
it reminded him of his father.
Before he was gone,
he spent his moments with him.
But this was the first Father's day
that he had to spend
staring at this picture with his mother
who refused to take the handkerchief away
from her eyes which water continue to drip;
and it was the lonely night all along
until they fell asleep on the dinner table
that used to be so rowdy with their laughs-
now replaced with cries in the morns and night.
The dream was different-
they both had the same dream,
a figure was there, standing like a statue.
The light suppressed shone on it,
it revealed an all too familiar face-
it seemed like through all the sufferings and cries,
that those tears seemed to never dry;
their beloved family member was always there for them,
and he was always looking and protecting
despite being banished from the world of the living.