An auburn coat, polished shoes, a cotton pant, and a beaming face,
The father embarked on his daily walk to the tea-stall by his house,
The white in his moustache had taken a toll over the black,
It had been the same with men, now it’s for the hair, he told his spouse.
Neatly parted hair, the few left on his head, and a wizened face,
He bid his everyday adios to his wife at the gate,
Both smiled yearning it was his last day he would visit the stall,
And that their craving would equate his fate.
As he gazed into his wristwatch he’d bought years ago,
He read the letter which he’d carry in his pouch,
“I’ll come to see you at the tea-stall one day”,
Today was the thousandth day he read that he’d vouch.
He told the seller about his son, that he’d left when he was six,
Said he’d come back only when he had earned,
And when he was twenty, he sent him a letter,
Saying he’d meet him at the tea-stall one day.
“My son must be busy with his work,
I think he’ll reach here by tomorrow,
He never broke his promise when he was younger,
Either in joy or in sorrow.”
The shopkeeper smiled as he poured him his last drink,
For the past twenty years they’d known each other,
And when a tear rolled down their cheeks,
None of them thought the other would bother.
The sun then set behind the knolls, whilst they shut the little booth,
And one day he told him, “You treat me as if I was your father”,
The tea-seller’s heart skipped a beat, as he spoke to himself,
“I’ve kept my promise and continue to keep it every day, father”.