Not everyone’s father is a hero

Not everyone’s father is a hero.
They kill childhoods with whisks of drunk nights and sullen, hollow homes.
They never gift doll houses, sketches or books.
They never remember birthdays as celebrations; rather it’s a day embarking a sorrow.
There are no summer holidays together, not even a Sunday brunch.
They leave imprints of violence, abuse and several nights of suffering and tears.
Their children never see galaxies and stars and rainbows, not even their favourite cartoon films on TV.
They crush under the silhouettes of dominance, ignorance and lies, a daughter’s dream tale, her voice and desires.
They roam escaping family, an absent figure.
They are not the ones children wait for, I always felt so free when he wasn’t at home.
His room and work place took no space when he wasn’t there, quiet like a lonely song, how well I could empathise with them.
They are unknown and unheard.
And yet the grief for a lifetime remains: it’s irreparably painful to forget them, abandon them.
Give them the same pain back.
Their children grow up with a heart full of rage and rebel and do you know whom do they wound the most?
Themselves.
Not everyone’s father is a hero.
~On father’s day……

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