Father, the Unspoken Roots

You were the silence between words

the space that taught me to breathe,

the weight of the world resting on your shoulders

never a burden,

but a quiet promise.

I never saw you as fragile,

even when your hands trembled

at the edge of a long day,

as if the sky itself leaned on you,

pressed your back,

but you never broke.

The air around you was always full

not with sound, but with a steady hum

like the heartbeat of the earth itself,

rooted deep,

deep enough to know things

before they were even spoken.

You spoke in looks

a glance that held a thousand lessons,

in the way you tied your shoes,

how you poured your coffee with care,

how you never asked for praise

even when you gave everything

until there was nothing left.

I remember your laugh,

a sound that wasn’t a sound at all—

more like sunlight breaking through rain,

warm, unexpected,

like the earth waking up after a long sleep.

I never told you how much I needed that laughter

how much I needed you,

how I still reach for the echo

of your hands,

your wisdom,

your quiet love.

Now I walk through the world

carrying the weight of your absence,

but somehow, I’m lighter

because I remember how you moved

through the world with grace,

with strength,

never needing anyone to notice,

never asking for anything in return.

You are the roots I stand on,

unseen, but grounding me.

The wind whispers your name,

and I know that somewhere,

you are still standing strong,

waiting for me to grow,

as you always knew I would.