the circle of fathers long gone

the circle of fathers long gone

The lady, joyous and serious
juggled with our ghosts
she said
let them enter
may the lizard watch that the night be not too unreal
that the daylight brings a drop of fantasy
speak with open hearts and they will feel free…


The first father says to his son
I am too old, my boy, mon petit
I saw you come into this world in sterile calmness,
         bathed in a cold white morning light

I left you to the care of she who could better give it
         trusting that you would grow up like you should

Oh yes, my son, I have loved you so
Yes, my son, pride in you, I have known it
Forgive me if my silence has made us strangers
         from my generation, quietness comes often
         too much modesty, lacking know-how

But my son, I loved you, even if I can no longer say the words…

And his son responds
I am so happy to speak with you thus
         even too late, even this abridged version
         my words are tinted from your arctic ice fields
         my modesty honors the inheritance you have gifted me

My father, I am finished before my end, lost without your speech
         comforting
         reassuring

The love between us, inanimate as your morning newspaper’s silent information
         has left me incomplete, unfinished, too reserved…

The second father speaks out, troubled by his own demons,
I always knew that at your birth
         there would be a spectacular explosion of glittering colors
         giving you a shining force to blossom fully in your personal quests…

My daughter, I left this life out of distress !
What a world I knew
I could do no differently
My daughter, see you my hands bound even yet
         my destiny outlined clearly, it’s irrevocability ?

An ignoble deed which seemed my only redemption
         has thrown you into complete confusion
         has birthed oceans of ignorance

How could I have saved you, me, who couldn’t even rescue myself ?
Daily I watch my regrets running slowly behind me as a black shadow,
         so far behind your love

But my daughter, never forget the colors…

And his daughter tells him
In front of me is a red lioness
         reaching deep into the wells of her energy,
         I forgive you

I would give my life to know your truths,
         that which you never knew to pronounce

I would have been your pillar
With your loss, my foundation has crumbled upon my life
But I pray that you may have found peace
That tranquility will rock me at last in the absence of your songs…


The third father declaimed
I know pride, my child
Seeing the calm colors accompanying your arrival in this world
I could only offer you an imperfect eldorado,
         idyllic memories to nourish a lifetime

Full of butterflies,
         so light and delicate but whose life is so momentary

My ideas gave birth to my determination, indeed
To tell or not to tell
Should I have kept silent not to sacrifice you ?
This question was asked too late
         in this unending life from where I send you butterfly gifts.

Know this : they can only be simple visitors !
Know this also my son
That I am proud to watch you catch them
         creating their positive motion for the lives of others

Here, from where my utopia has stranded us all in sadness…

This man’s son wished to say
         you are almost a hero returned from hell
         papa

But these words are mute,
         his faltering voice rasping, lips moving silently

Soon his voice will disappear utterly from an unimaginable suffering
         as he tries to evoke this father too soon disappeared…

Afterwards, he will speak silently to his own son,
         a language created uniquely of paternal love
         coming from another place where his inspiration is hidden.
Papa, I miss you so, will he whisper finally, stricken with emotion
Behind you, so many lives you left permanently toppled into nothingness
Give me the strength so that those I love never suffer the same…


The fourth father
Never saw the solitude or the blackness
         which descended immediately after the birth of his eldest

He was already fleeing, too quickly
Too definitively
         having lost his sense of direction,
         returning towards his own past.

To no longer speak, even though a lifetime ahead of him to do so
Choosing the inarticulate :
         I am not handy for words, emotions have fled my soul
         My son, I was not capable
         How could I become a father worthy of a son like you ?

The fourth son remains confused
Is convinced of his invisibility
I do not exist even inside of the immense darkness of solitude…
Simply, I want to ask you :
         why this silence, this absence ?
         Merely that. Nothing else carries any weight.

Knowing that no response would await further patience
Tears run down his face
He takes the first step on a path towards a future less heavy with yesterdays.
         My father, forgive me that I cannot look at my love for you
         My emotions, my own, are too painful.
         Let them remain unspoken…They must…

The last man, he who had no need of an invitation
Played elegantly on his drum
A funeral march, rhythmed by the past lives of all
and they danced, sadly together for the last time.




the circle of fathers long gone
27 mars, 2004

© Copyright 2006 alfred booth, wanbli ska (UN: troubadour at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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