A dance and a poem

Le ciel me dit que il va pleuvoir aujourd'hui.

Et toi papa, qu'est-ce que tu m'as dit?

Right before i fell asleep, i knew you would be there for me.

It was still dark when i woke up, but you left me in the light. Of a visual, vivid as yesterday. A stage that was just danced on, still adorned with throngs of beautiful pink lotus flowers. The air heavy with the scent of jasmine and tuberoses. A garland in my hair. Waves of faces, smiles and hugs, wishes and flowers in abundance.

It was my birthday. A milestone one. Funny you gave me a diamond ring, it's not like you to give meaningless rocks. It sits in a box, as do all such rings in the family, for diamonds caused you ill. Your superstition. Funny, cause you had so few.

But it's what you gave me on that stage that shine ever so bright, when all else fade. You. Tu et ma fille. A dance and a poem. A lilting, joyous, thunderous concoction of expressions of soul. C'est ma fille. An undying spirit, a rare blend of insight and exuberance, authority and empathy. C'est mon papa. From you i came, to her i went. Oui, ce sont mes limites. Et j'ai de la chance pour toujours.

And there was my answer. In your poem.

Remember me when i am gone

It is my only request to you

Don't let go of me

Even if i do of you

I must go where i am called

And if i never return

I will know still

I walk with you always

And i shall never be afraid

If you remember me.