There are fathers
With bittersweet love for their fathers
Who beget painful memories for their children
And there are fathers who loved their fathers
Who their children look up to with pride.
They write happy pages to read in old age.
A Pakistani who thinks he is a father first.
His young lad goes to school while his wife keeps vigil.
In a distant land he drives from morn till his bones creak.
He asked me one question - why so much hate between our countries?
I told him the mistakes of our forefathers.
And the radio blared - Long live the King!
While dear Indie told me about the late Sheikh,
How good a father he was, how good a statesman he was.
The roads are named after him - isn't that proof?