Hero.

​That was a day, 
When the night was cold, 
The winds sung a song so coarse, 
And the world had trembled, 
He covered some miles, 
In that small passage, 
Biting his tongue, 
Burning a hair or a two, 
She was inside the cabin, 
Where he couldn’t go, 
Some dreams of them, 
With a little hope, 
Some sweet smiles, 
Some pockets not so heavy, 
But full of wishes, 
Desires, future and hard work, 
A little house in the countryside, 
My world, my universe, 
Was their dream, 
Then he came crying, 
Packed in a soft towel, 
So small, so small, so small, 
He wiped his tears, 
Adjusted his sight, 
A war was to be fought, 
And he took against the world,
Bring back a bottle of milk, 
To a smiling family, 
The roof wasn’t strong sometimes, 
Food vanished from the plates, 
He cried, she cried, 
But never did he, 
That small growing packet of ambitions, 
Time passed like sand from hands, 
And he lost the black of hair, 
The melody he used to sometimes sing to, 
A rhyme so serene, 
Dreams became reality, 
Hard work, patience and lots of love, 
Sometimes he lost his temper, 
A man may sometimes show what’s inside, 
Sometimes not all the times, 
And he would smile when he showed him the card he made at school, 
The fantastic movie, the best shoes, 
Dreams when become a reality, 
Are a precious thing, 
Some lose something, 
For someone to gain a something, 
He wore those same old shoes, 
They still are as good as new, 
And the best thing for him, 
He would buy, 
He doesn’t know how to show love, 
He has been hard wired, 
Grown a shell, 
So that you don’t bear what he bears, 
The sweat, the blood, no difference, 
The days when he lost his hope, 
And when the world wasn’t fair, 
But he taught you to love and respect, 
To see the beauty of the world, 
To grow things he never could in himself, 
And would very quietly sleep at night, 
With legs sore from the day, 
Sometimes sleep would come to him, 
Sometimes he would walk in the garden, 
And pick up the thorns from the grass, 
Plant a tree in the soil, 
Or sometimes in him, 
Obvious it might be, 
Then or in sometime, 
And would try a hand at your guitar, 
To see if he could play, 
The sleepless nights, 
The spine chilling cold, 
And those shoulders that never lost hope, 
They say superheroes are made of something special, 
Now I believe, 
It’s the will of a being that makes him a superhero, 
Instills him with courage and valor, 
Lucky I am to see a superhero everyday, 
As he holds the newspaper, 
The only thing I can say, 
Don’t worry this world, Papa will save the day!