The walk together

father and son. [digital hand sketch]

We walked together, my father and me

A feather from nowhere flew in front of us

With an expression of deep pleasure 

For the feather to rest, my father held his palms together

He said he knew the quill well, long before I was born.

It was the belonging of a bird who lives many stories

And someday disappears to return to the child who will be to follow.

This bird is mine and the feather carries memories

I was intrigued at the mention of memories and immediately requested

What else does the feather say?

As he  read the feather and the message was as follows

There is a decoration  about which we are to be proud

The owner was unpretentious and kept the matter in humble mention

He lived a mundane life with the common success and errors in  his mind

He assured his father was never disrespected

 Because to the common he was reputed

As years passed the little piece of metal was safely kept away into a common mans chest

I was shown this piece when I was a child

and often had a feeling  of pride

With time I too lost the thought

to some part of my pleasant memory.

In the meantime the tinker lay in the darkness of the chest quietly

So dark it was that a generation passed by

Lonely and untouched it thought it was lost to the abysmal depth of the timeless

And look now this feather has reminded me of the forgotten medal.

They who forgot to value, forgot it even existed

And quietly we walked along

I could feel my father feel his begetter

On inquiry I was able to retrieve the medal from an aunt who loved me.

She was prompt to give it to me as a family memoire

When I showed my father his lost inheritance

there was a face flushed with memories

But once I saw the eyes of a son

the pleasure of being identified through his father

Nearly a century later the tinker found its value

as a memory keeper  to our family

And with silent pride in the heavens he heard – we love you father.

As we walked the stretch talking about the medal

My attention was drawn off the feather

I realized that it had disappeared and my father’s hand was by his side following the swing of his stride.

To my surprise he reassured that the feather will come back at another time

When I shall walk the stretch with my son

 to remind me of something I will have forgotten

and hence is preserved the link – not in the object with the memory

but the bird who sheds a  feather in its flight

Pratyush Chaudhuri 2018