Father dearest

eighteen years ago
he was taken away
the pain is dull now
the grief is not coal dark
but grey
I no longer rush to the phone
and imagine I will hear him ask
gudiya, are you doing ok
tears don't flood my eyes
when I talk about him
though it is rarely that I do
because the old resentment rears its head
and I ask Him
what did I do
to have my father taken away
just when he was settling
down to live a simple life of
deep content
with his children and grand children
having spent decades getting ready to
I rarely speak of him
and some would suspect that
I have forgotten
but every moment I spent
with my father
is a memory etched in colours
that cannot fade
on my mind's canvas
I am what I am
because that is how he made me
and in joy and grief
in celebration and sorrow
in rare moments of deep peace
I looks heavenwards and ask him.
papa, are you satisfied
with what I have so far made of my life,
the life you gave me
(PVKS)