父の手

今では、しわしわの父の手。

幼い時は、世界で一番大きな手だと思ってた。

その手でギュッと握られると安心した。

眠れない夜、抱っこして背中を優しくたたいてくれた。

生まれたばかりの父の手は、ぷっくりしていただろう

青春時代は、辛い日々を経験しただろう。

母とであった時、私と弟が生まれた時は幸せだっただろう。

一生懸命、家族や社会のために働いた父の手。

今は、その手を私が握る。

嬉しいいような、寂しいいような 。

しわしわの父の手。

 

 

 

 

 

 

Father’s Hands

Now, Father’s hands are wrinkled.

When I was a child, I thought they were the biggest hands in the world.

When those hands would squeeze mine, I would be reassured.

When I couldn’t sleep at night, those hands would hold me and gently pat me on the back.

Probably when Father was just born, his hands must have been plump and round.

During his youth, he must have experienced hardship.

When he met Mother, when I was born and my little brother was born, he must have been happy.

Hands that worked so hard for his family and society, Father’s.

Now, I am the one who squeezes his hands. 

Not quite sad, not quite happy.

My Father’s wrinkled hands.