Hey dad,
It's your wayward boy,
Nah, I didn't broke anything this time,
Although in the past few years;
Your rules many times.
Come on dad,
It's been years since;
I told you about my "busy life",
Just yesterday,
Facebook knocked my door,
And gave me a parcel, parcel of memories,
At first I was afraid;
Of looking at the past,
But I did somehow.
It mentioned "8 years ago on this day",
And you know it was me,
Weird, unkempt hairs, in the pyjamas,
A way shorter and skinny,
And there were you,
Crawling on your knees, like a horse,
A way younger, but not enough to deny my wish,
As I wanted you to be my loving horse,
Hey dad,
How have you been?
How you doing with your health?
Remember?
You put your visiting card in my bag,
Every morning
If somehow I get lost
"In the people around",
So that I could call you,
Also could tell you;
That I'm in this part of the world,
Come and take me back home again,
And as I've always being negligent,
I would always lost it by the end of the day,
And then years later,
You bought me a phone,
For us this ritual had stopped.
And then one day when I said;
Dad, I'm evolved, please,
I'm not your six years old little prince,
I can fly myself now,
I got Wings,
And you just told me;
"Fine dear but remember,
Don't fly so high, vultures fly there",
And then you just let me fly.
Hey dad,
It's your wayward boy,
I grew up so wrong so fast,
I've been clouted and dratted,
So I'm doing the same,
Yes, I had broke many things and many rules and innumerable hearts,
I'm lost, where's my home?
Dad, I lost your visiting card,
You never gave me one again,
And I can't reminisce your phone number,
So that I could call you,
And could tell you;
That I'm in this part of the world,
Come and take me home back again,
Hey dad,
It's your wayward boy.
Author Bio:
Vaibhav Shukla is 15-years-old from India and an amateur writer currently attending high school. He spends time dreaming, chasing, and writing in search of a perfect reading position (which he thinks doesn't exist). His wildest fantasies are innumerable. He spends most of his time on a terrace where he thinks and writes. Vaibhav's room consists of 4 walls, one of which is full of guitars that he loves to play.
It's your wayward boy,
Nah, I didn't broke anything this time,
Although in the past few years;
Your rules many times.
Come on dad,
It's been years since;
I told you about my "busy life",
Just yesterday,
Facebook knocked my door,
And gave me a parcel, parcel of memories,
At first I was afraid;
Of looking at the past,
But I did somehow.
It mentioned "8 years ago on this day",
And you know it was me,
Weird, unkempt hairs, in the pyjamas,
A way shorter and skinny,
And there were you,
Crawling on your knees, like a horse,
A way younger, but not enough to deny my wish,
As I wanted you to be my loving horse,
Hey dad,
How have you been?
How you doing with your health?
Remember?
You put your visiting card in my bag,
Every morning
If somehow I get lost
"In the people around",
So that I could call you,
Also could tell you;
That I'm in this part of the world,
Come and take me back home again,
And as I've always being negligent,
I would always lost it by the end of the day,
And then years later,
You bought me a phone,
For us this ritual had stopped.
And then one day when I said;
Dad, I'm evolved, please,
I'm not your six years old little prince,
I can fly myself now,
I got Wings,
And you just told me;
"Fine dear but remember,
Don't fly so high, vultures fly there",
And then you just let me fly.
Hey dad,
It's your wayward boy,
I grew up so wrong so fast,
I've been clouted and dratted,
So I'm doing the same,
Yes, I had broke many things and many rules and innumerable hearts,
I'm lost, where's my home?
Dad, I lost your visiting card,
You never gave me one again,
And I can't reminisce your phone number,
So that I could call you,
And could tell you;
That I'm in this part of the world,
Come and take me home back again,
Hey dad,
It's your wayward boy.
Author Bio:
Vaibhav Shukla is 15-years-old from India and an amateur writer currently attending high school. He spends time dreaming, chasing, and writing in search of a perfect reading position (which he thinks doesn't exist). His wildest fantasies are innumerable. He spends most of his time on a terrace where he thinks and writes. Vaibhav's room consists of 4 walls, one of which is full of guitars that he loves to play.
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