Published April 19, 2015 by Shreya Rajvanshi

My father always made me sure
I grew up to be the kind of person
To build the bridges and I always
Made sure I put the ropes in all
The right places so that the bridge
Doesn’t collapse, my father never
Bought me new shoes when I used to
Trip, but taught me how to tie
The laces more securely, not even
Once did he pamper me when I
Accidentally cut off my finger,
Rather, he taught me how to
Hold the knife carefully,
He never told me to sit
Cross legged, like a lady should,
But always told me to sit straight,
Like a bridge would stand,
Never did he ask me to he his son,
But always asked me to be
His own blood, clean, strong,
Thick, and always flowing,
And we are still building that bridge,
And we’ll walk on it, together,
Once it’s built,
Once I become the kind of person
He knows I’d want to become.


22 comments on “Bridge.

  • I don’t know how I got to find your blog…but trust me I’m loving reading it.
    I may not be commenting or liking each and every of your creations, but trust me…I have liked each of them 🙂
    Keep writing…
    This window is gona be my favourite place for evening tea 😀
    Keep smiling 🙂 🙂 🙂

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