My father's hand is a pathfinder,
paving the ways for me.
When I stray away from the path
or whenever the waves of life raged at me
attempting to swallow me,
or tear me into debris,
I could feel his hands smoothing on my body,
like the way he did
when I first drew my breath.

My father's voice is an ocean,
which echoes my name in unknown tongues,
whenever life tries to make a caricature of me.
I got drowned in his voice,
and I was born-again,
I became a light
too bright for darkness to loom around.