Durgham Mushtaha

He asked me to give a speech on behalf of our late father, Hany.

But instead of trying to figure out what our father might have said, I instead imagined what he might have felt in the form of a poem.

The poem is called Horizons.

Look at you now, all grown to fill a tux.

My son married, a small boy no longer.

And all they say about apples and trees, with a lovely wife to make you stronger.

Days in the garden with the summer breeze.

Do you celebrate those old memories?

The horizon changing colour and we, the great constructors of all that we see.

A good father is who you've grown to be, with soundness of judgment to exercise.

I swell with pride to see you with your bride, drinking happiness from each other's eyes.

Together now, you will take your next stride to your horizon as husband and wife.

You are the singing authors of your song.

I wish you both joy for your whole lives long.

When you wrinkle and reach my frozen age, do not fumble with the midlife crisis.

Still years between you and that horizon, with woolly jumpers and bedtime vices.

As shadows grow and stretch, so you'll wisen.

But remember, play with my grandchildren.

Tell them I'm here.

Tell them to look and see.