Father

He came to me
We slept under the same roof
I heard his breathing, snoring and other reptilian sounds
It seemed to me
He was tired of his life
The life had quenched up his last red drop
The empty sap was obvious from his sullen eyes
He got up early in the morning
A casual sign that he was living
He waited for leave-taking
He awaited a long
The left note said:
“My dear son-take care of yourself
You’ve lots of things to see
Before I see you off”
He was not thirsty from his life
But he hadn’t waited for leave-taking
As it seemed to me
I heard his parting, his going
And he didn’t come to meet me again.

Amitabh Vikram Dwevedi

About Amitabh Vikram Dwevedi

Amitabh Vikram Dwivedi is an assistant professor of linguistics in the School of Languages and Literature at Shri Mata Vaishno Devi University, India. His research interests include language documentation, writing descriptive grammars, and the preservation of rare and endangered languages in South Asia. He has contributed articles to many English journals. 

His most recent books are A Grammar of Hadoti (Lincom Europa Academic Publications, 2012) and A Grammar of Bhadarwahi (Lincom Europa Academic Publications, 2013), and A Grammar of Dogri is forthcoming. 

As a poet, he has published around fifty poems in different anthologies worldwide. Until recently, his poem “Mother” has included as a prologue to Motherhood and War: International 
Perspectives (Eds.), Palgrave Macmillan Press. 2014.
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