“I had to bear

that I was no bear

sitting with a beer

and friends to cheer.

I hold you dear,

my sweet little lovely deer.

Give me your ear

so that I can whisper into them, do not fear.

We need to gear

every moments love and hear

the mild rain drops, pattering here

on my doorway, my glasses turn haze, near

and far is no more there.

I am nothing but a mere

man, human weak and soft as a pear.

I am no King Lear.

I am your father, queer standing in the rear,

I will not let the world tear

you apart, you can wear

your tiara, your burning red 👗 dress in a year,

I love you sweet little prickly rare.”

This was my daughter’s favourite poem. Every night she would ask me to recite it before going to sleep until one day when she grew up and Dad became just a name on her record books, forms, notes and just a name I became. I saw it mutely as she disliked my visits, as she grew up more to loathe my presence, as she learnt I had once been bloodiest of all demons.

But, then one day as I was serving my sentence my wife, I mean my ex wife came and with her came my daughter Tiara. She stood long aside her mother quiet, silent watching me from the corner of her eyes.

I did not dare to ask her anything. I have been strangely been scared of softness, souls who cannot harm. Often during my working days, I would find ways in which I could prove someone guilty, even if it meant a scratch. It was enough for me to know that I was looking into myself, the demon sits right within. But my daughter, my wife and you were three of seven such people whom I could never fathom killing.

The day I saw you hiding beneath the sofa 🛋, your eyes were sooo damn huge. I had only seen such big eyes of deers, antelopes and the zebras in my life. I knew you could not harm, could never harm. My arms had shaken and I had missed your mother and father. They lived.