The 102nd Candle

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Today the candles count to one hundred and two,  

yet you sit before them,silent, calm- 

like time itself has paused, breath held,  

to listen to the quiet strength of your soul.

>>>

Father,  

I am the single branch  

that grew from your patient seasons,  

the fragile bloom nurtured by your unwavering care.  

In the garden of your years,  

I was the seed you chose to water  

with the vastness of your sky,  

the gentle rain of your hopes.

>>>

Your hands! oh, your hands-  

they are maps of love,  

rivers of wrinkles flowing with stories  

from worlds I’ve never seen,  

yet when they hold mine,  

they still feel like the first shelter,  

the warmest refuge I ever knew.

>>>

One hundred and two birthdays  

have traced your path- 

each a testament to quiet resilience,  

yet your voice remains a soft lullaby,  

the melody of an old tree- 

standing firm through a hundred storms,  

rooted deep in unwavering grace.

>>>

I remember  

how you measured love-not with words,  

but with mornings that broke open like dawn,  

with cups of tea that held your patience,  

with lanterns kept burning-  

even when shadows lengthened at late-night doors,  

your warmth a silent promise.

>>>

Today, I gaze at you,  

and time feels shy-

as if the universe itself pauses to honor  

the quiet miracle of your existence.  

Even after a century,  

your eyes still recognize me- 

the way the morning recognizes light,  

the way hope recognizes home.

>>>

If life’s road stretches endlessly,  

you have already walked past a thousand sunsets,  

yet still, you wait at the gate-  

as if every evening holds my coming home,  

as if love itself is eternal.

>>>

Father,  

one daughter-just one-  

but inside my soul,  

I carry a hundred and two springs  

you planted deep within me,  

blossoming still.

>>>

Blow the candles gently- 

the wind may believe it is ending flames,  

but I know-it is only love’s quiet lesson  

in learning how long love can truly live.  


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