Its six in the morning and I can hear the pages turning,
You sneak a cigarette so as not to let Silvie worry.
Your type writer is resting while you drink your morning coffee,
the first of many.
You are surrounded by a million books,
each has a corner that you have bent where important thoughts
and words wait for that right moment when they need to be said.
and words wait for that right moment when they need to be said.
On your desk a few snapshots of people you love who are not near.
Your window leans across the length of your desk and faces
the big tree , who like you sits and stares south remembering .
the mountains, the sky, the friends, the music,the silence.
the big tree , who like you sits and stares south remembering .
the mountains, the sky, the friends, the music,the silence.
the innocence Once there was spring.
Your shirt is tucked half out of your pants , old slippers and a robe
that you wear only because you need a place to hold your cigarettes ,
your eye-glasses and of course a book
Your eyes are red and your hair is a mess,your face is filled with lines
and holes and marks that grace your nose. A fine nose you have
wrote. Yes it is It is a good place to hold your head.
Inside your desk you have neatly filed all the projects you have
dreamed. You told me once,What is a man but not his dreams ,
What is a man but not his word , What is a man if he doesn't
yell at the wind , What is a man who is not browned by the sun,
What is a man if he does not plant a tree.What is a man but
the name that he lays on his heart. Something like that...
you always told me a lot .
that you wear only because you need a place to hold your cigarettes ,
your eye-glasses and of course a book
Your eyes are red and your hair is a mess,your face is filled with lines
and holes and marks that grace your nose. A fine nose you have
wrote. Yes it is It is a good place to hold your head.
Inside your desk you have neatly filed all the projects you have
dreamed. You told me once,What is a man but not his dreams ,
What is a man but not his word , What is a man if he doesn't
yell at the wind , What is a man who is not browned by the sun,
What is a man if he does not plant a tree.What is a man but
the name that he lays on his heart. Something like that...
you always told me a lot .
In your desk a folder with memories ,
You.! you have a folder of memories .Funny to find out that you
are a sentimental old man. Who would have thought behind that
disguise; that you hold precious those insignificant prizes.
It is nice to know.
are a sentimental old man. Who would have thought behind that
disguise; that you hold precious those insignificant prizes.
It is nice to know.
There is a garden that you have started to grow. All these years
I would have never known that you have the patience of a farmer,
who plants and waits ,who waters and waits, who nurtures and
waits. who waits to enjoy the day the seeds break the ground,
who enjoys watching the vine grow tall and flower a garden and
who enjoys cutting a flower to share with his love that smiles, and waits.
I would have never known that you have the patience of a farmer,
who plants and waits ,who waters and waits, who nurtures and
waits. who waits to enjoy the day the seeds break the ground,
who enjoys watching the vine grow tall and flower a garden and
who enjoys cutting a flower to share with his love that smiles, and waits.
Well Dad, its not exactly a poem and its not exactly a story,
but I guess nothing is exactly how it should be always.
Today is Father's Day I woke up thinking how nice it would have
been to wake up and share a coffee and a chat and to say
I love you Dad. Soon. But as things are and not as they should
please know that I was thinking of you just the way your are.
As always your son and friend.
but I guess nothing is exactly how it should be always.
Today is Father's Day I woke up thinking how nice it would have
been to wake up and share a coffee and a chat and to say
I love you Dad. Soon. But as things are and not as they should
please know that I was thinking of you just the way your are.
As always your son and friend.
(to my dad Marco Antonio Chiriboga Villaquiran on Father's Day)
