My babies

I’m tired every single day, as I wake up and go to sleep,

My babies, they are so alive, at times they make me feel deceased

As next to them I’m just a pawn. A puppet in my own game

Of being endless, smooth and free of things I held close to my heart

Before I changed my days, my mind. I even changed my friends and chose

To be alone among adults. As they don’t matter, nor do I.

And everything is so mundane, and lame, and slow, and inane,

As long as it does not include what I was meant to do in life.

I wanted to be free of me, my notions, preconceived or learnt,

Free of obstructions leading to someplace that wasn’t meant for me.

I only wanted to be filled with love. And purpose. Not look back

And think of what it could have been, or what it was, or always ask

The timeless ‘be or not to be’. Or maybe just a simple ‘why’.

I tire, play, and teach, and care. I cook and clean, and feed and bathe,

I change those diapers, fix the toys. I wipe the dirt from walls and floor.

I entertain and play the games, I tell the stories, wipe the tears,

I kiss them gently when they hurt, I make them smile, laugh and dream.

I feel fulfilled like nothing else has ever brought into my life.

I disregard all that I used to fill my days before they came

To my reality and caused my world to blossom. Wonderland

Unraveled through the Looking Glass.

I miss them when they leave for school and even when they go to sleep.

I wish that I could be as one with them, their minds, their fears and dreams.

And then they leave. And I forget the sleepless nights, the hectic days.

I only miss them and I ask myself if I should even be, or maybe not,

As after all I am no Hamlet or Shakespeare. I’m just a father, who fulfilled

His every whim by having them right in my life and on my mind.

And then the daze of modern days took over and demanded that

I stay detached and focused and somewhat removed.

So, I regress. Or maybe simply sublimate. Or lose my strength…

I am no longer what I was meant to be in life.

A Ronin living with the dream of having them fatigue and tire

And make me feel like I’m not quite on the level I should be.

And I look forward the play, and lessons, and the care.

I miss the diapers, broken toys and even miss the mess they make.

Life goes on and so do I. I think of kissing off their pain, when they fall down, get upset,

Or just frustrated or unsure.

I am the Father. It’s my name. It’s not a title or a choir. It is a privilege indeed.

A blessing, duty and godsend.

I wait.