'When The Poet Meets His Father Again.' Poem by Ammaar Butt

I could not feel my legs.
Tears dropping from my eyes,
My heart pounding against my chest.

He was standing right infront of me.

He was Wearing his favorite 'chanel' cologne,
His white shirt that he wore on my 16th Birthday.
His hair pushed backwards,
White light, glowing up his flawless skin.

It felt like a dream.

I could not breathe.

I saw him standing there smiling at me with his arms wide open as he said, 'Come, son. Come to your father.'

And then I ran.
I ran and fell into his arms, as he wrapped them around me.
The stains of my tears were all over his white shirt.
The ecstasy of that moment is indescribable.

I told him that I missed him.
That as I threw dirt on his grave,
With my small, gentle palms I felt like everything had ended.
I told him that I hadn't smiled since the day he left.
That I did take care of his wife and his daughter.
That I was the shelter that kept them in shade of the Sun.
I told him that ever since he left,
Every night I wept and prayed for this moment.
To see you.
And today, my wish has Come true.
I told him that I loved him.

He just smiled and watched me letting out my pain.
Gently rubbing the Palm of his gentle hands on my cheeks.

I told him that he became a grandfather.
That I told my son all the great things we did together.
I told him that I'm a great father.
That my son loves me just the way I love you.

I told him.. Nothing.

I woke up as someone slammed the door.
My half written poem laying on the table,
Disowned and rejected.
With the title that said 'The day I met my Father.'

It was a dream

I rub my eyes with a smile on my face,
I grab my pen and write the poem again.