My Father's Turban

And oh how I hated my father's turban!
Visible, and loud, and proud, on his head,
it spoke volumes about
a pride I clearly dearly wished to shed.

I could not be more forthright,
and honest when I gazed with some
apprehension- I hated it!
Guilty looks abounded and I hounded

My poor father, passing snide remarks
for things he had no control over
my poor father, I'm sorry for your
loss and every time we ate out

I would tremble and quiver and fear
the frowns, the laughs, the sneer
of ignorance and pestilence of hate-
Sorry, father, sorry, I hope not too late.

Now I understand, older but not so
much the wiser but enough yet to
understand why you wear your turban-
and so much love in my heart for it.

Selfless service, I am humbled,
By your commitment to your turban,
Daddy, mainu maaf karo, I am sorry
For running away from who I am.

Daddy, I am sorry for how embarrassed
I felt at your accent, Daddy for your
loudness, your Punjabiness, your blue collar origins you
could not shake off.
I am sorry.

And to my father's turban,
I am sorry most of all.