He came crying
He came sad
His world was apart
His shooting star was gone
He curled on the coach
With his little hands in his heart
I asked him what was wrong
He said nothing
I touched him in his palm
He stared away
Shrugging of my face
Then the little tear dropped
He asked,
“When are we going to see the shooting star again?”
I responded
I don’t know son
But beneath those questions,
There was more pain to be unearthed
He turned to lie flat on his belly
But soon enough he was sobbing
I gazed at him and I was helpless
I comforted him but still it was useless
I tried to hug him but coldness enriched him
I reached out for his hand and all he did was pull away
Maybe I could never be enough to fit his father’s place
Maybe I could never be enough to spark that son-father bond
Maybe I could never be enough to teach him how to be a man
Maybe I could never be enough to be his shooting star
And just when enough may not be enough
So am I tired of seeing my son like that
Shooting stars may not come around often
So I might just play both the mother and father role.
Comments
