Six books.
Six books you were given by God to raise, nurture and fill up as you desired.

So you wrote on them the most graceful of lines, the deepest of poems and the most beautiful of stories.
You painted us a canvas of absolute beauty and minimum imperfections.
Drawings of ease and hardship outlined by love and affection.

Colours so vivid they could elate us when we’re down, treat us when we’re ill, have me bounce around and also stand still.

My father is more than an architect of structures, he is an architect of character.

He designed us, built us, made us into the greatest masterpiece he has ever worked on. Of course, that took a few beatings.

I’ve always wanted to be my father.
From the first time I tried to mimic his signature to all the times I got so giddy when people said we look the same. So yeah, thank you for the good looks.

My mother. My mother. My mother.
Funniest woman I know. She’d probably make fun of this poem if she heard it.
She blessed me with charm in the form of a smile, wit and satire you can see from a mile. Her hugs and laughs give me life and she cooks a really mean molah.

My love and gratitude for my parents would exceed the desert and the seas if every grain of sand and every drop of water was a simple “I love you and thank you”.

Biologically, they gave birth to me
Spiritually, they taught me all that I stand for
Mathematically, they’re 12 and I’m 144
Chemically, they’re the catalyst of my success and joy
Metaphorically, an old man’s last wish and a kid’s first toy

Ultimately, they’re the Thierry Henry to my Arsenal, except they never left.
There’s a statue of them inside of me that keeps me going.
That drives me to be
Half the man my father is
And to find half the woman my mother is

For I am their son, the greatest trophy I’ll ever achieve in my life.