C'est la vie

poem

Being a teacher and religion activists got me respects and honor for the longest time of my life. I am a father of four expecting at least one of them would stay at our spacious house. In fact, no one did.

In 2016, I was retired. My wife told me to raise a cow, or goat, or another group of chicken (which we already had) to keep me busy like I used to. But I suffered partial vision loss even before the cow-, the goat-, or the chicken-thing, not long after the retirement ceremony. I no longer walked without the atom stick; used to be a mop stick, till one day, a package of Jepara wooden stick came to the house.

My little girl, o dear my little girl, bought me this. The sweetest of her, very sweetest of her.

I didn’t talk much with her since she entered schools. I was a type of father who didn't know how to make a conversation with my own sons and daughters. I thought buying things and giving them money were enough to make them stay. I thought picking them up from schools was enough to make them love me like I did. I thought love was giving, turns out love was presence. Now a lonely father with the old radio waiting for his faithful wife brings him brown sugar warm tea and feeds him, is me.

My wife, my miserably pathetic wife. I know I hurts her much with the harsh words. Cause sometimes I just feel angry towards everything. You know when God suddenly took your capacity to notice the blue birds chirping in the branches, sometimes orange, sometimes red. Started to forget those colors tho. What else could you express those feelings of loss?

It was Thursday evening when my little girl brought home this young man. I touched his face I would like to see him I could not see him. My wife told me that he was not that handsome but he seemed nice. My wife told me that he had wide ears o my lord what did I just hear my silly wife. I could hear his heavy voice like mine. Is he stubborn, my dear? Is he quiet and not able to express his love by words? Does he want to see you more than I do? Seems like you wanted a man like your father, didnt you?

If I should pray for the last, let me hold the hand of my little girl on that day. Very last day when I see another hand holding hers tighter warmer and longer.

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, by lilisnurha

poem

Then It Failed

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, by lilisnurha

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C'est la vie

Sooth

Before the After

01.01

A Wife

Prayer of the Forgotten Man

Then It Failed

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Pages

C'est la vie

Sooth

Before the After

01.01

A Wife

Prayer of the Forgotten Man

Then It Failed

About me

Follow Me On

Labels

recent posts

Blog Archive

Popular Posts

ON INSTAGRAM @LILISNURHA

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