There was a man, standing at my window. 

Crying.

Not a word was spoken but I understood the man.

The man was staring in from the living room.

Watching my borthers and sisters play with their new toys,

gifted to them by another man, being taught lessons by another man, being scolded by another man and being cherished by another man. 

My mother being embraced by another man, being loved by another man, being touched by another man and being in love with another man. 

The man did not spoke a word but I still undestood the man.

The man crying at the window.

The man.

My father