I did not like my father

My father comes home after
Spending many months abroad.
I am four, his youngest son
And with my mom at home.
I see him holding her in arms
And kissing her again and again.
I do not like this. I do not like this.
He holds me up in his arms.
I push him. I resist.
He does not let me go.
He takes me to a candy store
And buys me some barfi.
I refuse to eat. I say, “No, No.”
Almost by force he tries
To put a piece into my mouth
And then tries to kiss my cheeks.
His bad breath makes me sick.
I feel like vomiting. I put
My head on his shoulder
And look the other way around.
He takes me home and complains
To my mom, “What have you done
To this little one?
He loves me no more.”
Since that day, for years to come
I did not like my father.