Los Angeles, Calif., Dec. 5, 1972

Papa, give me humble eyes

By Vladimir Huber

As I try to understand the differences
between papa and me
the dreamt rest on South American beaches
seems half lost

He clings to written laws and old-fashioned norms
He was born somewhere and he thinks accordingly
It’s a shame, but the reunion won’t be as we thought
We got to face it: we are just proving the fact
that we are more father and son, than brothers

Each person has its own time
Each mountain its own height
You are somewhere and I am somewhere else
There are not two rivers with the same length
even that they might seem close

You might come to meet me and I might open my arms to you
You might caress my hand with my smile facing you
We might walk together through rivers and clouds
but you’ll never take my step and I’ll never take yours

In this distance between our positions
we can find much to learn
look at me with humble eyes
‘cause even the distance
I feel you close enough to hold your hand