Coming home from the daily race,
Silently he embraces this chases of life.
For in storm and struggle he lives,
Only charm and humbles is what he gives.
So much does he dare his dignity of labor,
Sharing and caring all the favours and honours of life.
Heartfully he feeds the hunger of dreams and carry the numbers in this realms of life.
In this fabric of times,
He plays this game of life with silent moves, untold stories and burden of memories.
In the end,
Valedictory is what he takes and victory is what he gives.
His glory of action and Splendors of achievement are all but experiences of time.
In the end,
All he does is to grace this pace of life.
Like a setting sun he signs off every day,
Providing hope and inspiration on every other day.
He is that little art in this heart of life
That any canvas would show the eternity of life.
One of that surging crowds but definitely the proud of them.
These lines are a heartfelt token with a hope that these words could hold love.
This is the line that for him I pen,
Only a father, but definitely the best of the men.
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