Come sit a while by me
Tell me something, Tell me anything
They are too busy, the ones who i thought would warm my old age
She is long gone, the one i hoped would be my companion in the years
You're here now, tell me something, anything, just do not say hullo and walk away
We are a different generation,
I want to hear about what you people do now,
Everything just seems to have walked right by me
Your hands are always busy, tapping away at the thing you walk about with
You walk with a dance in your step, little wires in your ears
You smile and nod when you see me, but that's all the conversation we have
The smile that tells that there is no conversation between us
It breaks my heart, that you want to learn nothing from me
When i was younger, i sought wisdom, i sought guidance
I liked to follow my father about, to hear him and to watch him at his trade
I wanted to be the man he was, i wanted to learn from him
I spent many evenings tending to the fire listening to the stories he told
The stories that had a lesson for me to learn
My mother was the woman i wanted my wife to learn from
She was a gentle woman with strong hands, not given to lies and gossip.
She tended the garden allowing the wind to carry her quiet voice as she prayed and sang
She prayed for me, she prayed for us all, i guess it is why i still am
I wonder who will teach you, i wonder who you will learn from
Things are not as they used to be
So much fighting, bickering, even among your own kin
There is a gap and i do not blame you for it
Your father and i should have worked harder, we should have
I feel like i do not know any of you
You, your parents, your siblings and my other children
First chance they got, they left for the city life
I do not blame them, it held more promise than the hoes and the sheep
I was too stubborn to come as often as they liked,
The journey too was not kind on my back and knees
Now, there is a gap that we cannot fix
I wish though that every so often you would come sit by me
Even if you said nothing, i would like to hear your heart beat
Know that i hold even a little bit of importance to you
I am afraid that i sound harsh when i call out to you
It is the way we speak, they say we are rough and tough
Our hearts are in a good place though
Come sit by me, my days are done and i am alone.
Wednesday, March 23, 2016
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
To the girl on TV
I can point out all your mistakes because i watch you very closely.
I follow your every move.
When you fall, i am there to point that out.
When you start to rise, i am there waiting for you to stumble.
I watch you, closely.
I feel that it is my duty to remind you that you cannot afford to make mistakes, that you cannot afford to be human.
I know when you take too long in the toilet.
I know when what you write is below the standard i have set for you.
I know when what you wear is not what i would rather you wear.
I have watched you too long that i am afraid i cannot tell the difference between your life and mine.
When you fail it is as though i have failed.
I cannot let that happen.
I see now that i got it all mixed up.
I was never meant to be your shadow.
My life was mine to live but i chose to live yours instead.
I watched your back so long i forgot to watch mine and when i started to stoop, i was too busy pointing out your stoop i didn't see mine.
I am old and grey now but i have not lived a life that i can say was mine.
I cannot tell my grand children your stories.
They will ask for mine.
I do not have grand children,
I was too busy watching your life, calculating your mistakes, i forgot to meet someone and have a life with them.
Perhaps i should blame myself, for not living.
But why blame me when i can blame you?
They placed you right in front of me
Society told me you were who i should be like
All i did was follow
So i tried to shape you
Tried to make you the me i should have been.
Where is the future
My mouth tastes like anger.
I imagine anger tastes like spoilt milk or a nasty after taste of a thing you hate
I must have drank from the same cup thats been going round since last year.
I gather no one has bothered to wash it out and pour some new water.
We are all angry.
He brought his boda boda to a screeching halt right in front of her car
She stared at him through listless eyes, almost as though she knew that he was about to insult her
He stared back and then let out a long loud jeer
"Your time shall come, we are tired of you lot! You westerners!"
She tapped at the wheel and waited quietly oblivious to the hooting and shouts from the other drivers
"Get out of the road madam!"
"And go where," she whispered
"Draw back a little sir, you will damage her car if she tries to move."
"No, i am far enough. Stupid things do not even know how to drive! How do they run this country!"
"But you're the one in the wrong! Give her way so we can all go."
"Are you one of them? You must be. One day...just you wait!"
He pushed his motorcycle back a few inches
She drove forward
"Why do you leave your windows down? What if they throw something at you?"
"It is hot, and i cannot run away from the angry rhetoric of every disillusioned man"
"But what if they harm you?"
"Then so be it. I cannot help who i am. If they hate us because of how we look, what can we do?"
"Protect yourself, tint your windows, drive windows up"
"No. That would mean i am ashamed of who i am. It would mean i have something to hide."
My mouth tastes like anger
It is that bitter taste that has refused to go away.
The one you try to wash away with water, soda, anything
But the bitterness grows
There is a cup and they have refused to wash it. Throw it away even
It keeps going round and everyone is drinking from it
No one cares that it is rusty and the liquid on the inside does not look as it should
We're thirsty and we drink what we get
We get high on it and act on it
It doesn't matter the consequences of our actions
The children?
Who cares about the children
Tomorrow will fend for itself
They will build the life they want when they are old enough to
But how can they when you start them off with nothing
Well, we started with nothing too
Its the children i fear for.
My eyes search for the cup. I must find it. At the very least, break it.
I imagine anger tastes like spoilt milk or a nasty after taste of a thing you hate
I must have drank from the same cup thats been going round since last year.
I gather no one has bothered to wash it out and pour some new water.
We are all angry.
He brought his boda boda to a screeching halt right in front of her car
She stared at him through listless eyes, almost as though she knew that he was about to insult her
He stared back and then let out a long loud jeer
"Your time shall come, we are tired of you lot! You westerners!"
She tapped at the wheel and waited quietly oblivious to the hooting and shouts from the other drivers
"Get out of the road madam!"
"And go where," she whispered
"Draw back a little sir, you will damage her car if she tries to move."
"No, i am far enough. Stupid things do not even know how to drive! How do they run this country!"
"But you're the one in the wrong! Give her way so we can all go."
"Are you one of them? You must be. One day...just you wait!"
He pushed his motorcycle back a few inches
She drove forward
"Why do you leave your windows down? What if they throw something at you?"
"It is hot, and i cannot run away from the angry rhetoric of every disillusioned man"
"But what if they harm you?"
"Then so be it. I cannot help who i am. If they hate us because of how we look, what can we do?"
"Protect yourself, tint your windows, drive windows up"
"No. That would mean i am ashamed of who i am. It would mean i have something to hide."
My mouth tastes like anger
It is that bitter taste that has refused to go away.
The one you try to wash away with water, soda, anything
But the bitterness grows
There is a cup and they have refused to wash it. Throw it away even
It keeps going round and everyone is drinking from it
No one cares that it is rusty and the liquid on the inside does not look as it should
We're thirsty and we drink what we get
We get high on it and act on it
It doesn't matter the consequences of our actions
The children?
Who cares about the children
Tomorrow will fend for itself
They will build the life they want when they are old enough to
But how can they when you start them off with nothing
Well, we started with nothing too
Its the children i fear for.
My eyes search for the cup. I must find it. At the very least, break it.
Thursday, March 3, 2016
Dear Rosie
Dear Rose,
I met your mother yesterday. I was walking along the street, that one right opposite the church you used to go to. She saw me first and stopped me to say hullo. She was in a bit of a hurry and i figured she was late for something. She looked at the church and said she had booked a mass for you and she was running later for it. I saw her eyes begin to tear and then she gave me a quick hug and went her way.
I watched her a while, watched as she got to the entrance, wiped her shoes and made the sign of the cross. I watched your mother and all the while i thought of how it is that you were indeed gone.
It should not surprise you that close to a year later, your mother still holds a mass for you as often as she does. I never saw a stronger woman on the day you were laid to rest. She grieved on the inside and would not let anyone see by the way of tears how much it pained her. She walked about, her rosary in hand, counting off the little beads and muttering under her breath.
She was praying for you. She never stopped.
When we were younger, people used to tell us that Kings did not do the number five. You know what i mean....that toilet business that requires of you to have a newspaper or a book or your phone so you do not get bored as you empty your bowels. For a moment there, i looked at your picture and i wondered how it is that you could just be gone. You were one of those people that just weren't allowed to go and if perhaps you had to go, it was to be after this aging process that would see you gracefully wear the silver hair, the slight wrinkles where the laugh lines should have been and the long skirts and elegant tops with a brooch in place.
Seeing you then and thinking of the picture in my head, i finally saw that the picture we paint of others is a picture to console ourselves. I know now that the picture in my head was really to give me the hope that you would beat this. I never, even for a day believed that you wouldn't make it. When they lost hope and said it was done, in my heart i knew it was not. That picture kept hope alive. If it would take a miracle to see you get back on your feet, that miracle was going to happen.
Only it didn't.
Even now, i refuse to acknowledge it. I was packing up a few things the other day and i found one of the tee shirts we made for the fundraiser. I couldn't bring myself to look at the picture at the front. I folded it and put it away. It has not yet been settled in my heart. I still feel like it is not what it is.
Your mother though, she knows that you are in a better place. She prays for you. Lights candles for you and talks about you with the most beautiful smile. She is certain that you lived such a life that your place beyond was secured. She takes each day, knowing that one day, she will see you, hold your hand, and thank you for fighting what was probably the hardest battle you ever fought.
I met your mother yesterday. I was walking along the street, that one right opposite the church you used to go to. She saw me first and stopped me to say hullo. She was in a bit of a hurry and i figured she was late for something. She looked at the church and said she had booked a mass for you and she was running later for it. I saw her eyes begin to tear and then she gave me a quick hug and went her way.
I watched her a while, watched as she got to the entrance, wiped her shoes and made the sign of the cross. I watched your mother and all the while i thought of how it is that you were indeed gone.
It should not surprise you that close to a year later, your mother still holds a mass for you as often as she does. I never saw a stronger woman on the day you were laid to rest. She grieved on the inside and would not let anyone see by the way of tears how much it pained her. She walked about, her rosary in hand, counting off the little beads and muttering under her breath.
She was praying for you. She never stopped.
When we were younger, people used to tell us that Kings did not do the number five. You know what i mean....that toilet business that requires of you to have a newspaper or a book or your phone so you do not get bored as you empty your bowels. For a moment there, i looked at your picture and i wondered how it is that you could just be gone. You were one of those people that just weren't allowed to go and if perhaps you had to go, it was to be after this aging process that would see you gracefully wear the silver hair, the slight wrinkles where the laugh lines should have been and the long skirts and elegant tops with a brooch in place.
Seeing you then and thinking of the picture in my head, i finally saw that the picture we paint of others is a picture to console ourselves. I know now that the picture in my head was really to give me the hope that you would beat this. I never, even for a day believed that you wouldn't make it. When they lost hope and said it was done, in my heart i knew it was not. That picture kept hope alive. If it would take a miracle to see you get back on your feet, that miracle was going to happen.
Only it didn't.
Even now, i refuse to acknowledge it. I was packing up a few things the other day and i found one of the tee shirts we made for the fundraiser. I couldn't bring myself to look at the picture at the front. I folded it and put it away. It has not yet been settled in my heart. I still feel like it is not what it is.
Your mother though, she knows that you are in a better place. She prays for you. Lights candles for you and talks about you with the most beautiful smile. She is certain that you lived such a life that your place beyond was secured. She takes each day, knowing that one day, she will see you, hold your hand, and thank you for fighting what was probably the hardest battle you ever fought.
Tuesday, March 1, 2016
Micah
The eyes of a child can tell a story.
Same for the eyes of an adult, but i feel that the adult eye has seen so much that sometimes pain is masked by gratitude and joy comes off simply as pretense.
I believe that the eyes of a child tell no lie.
I saw Micah's picture today...I saw his eyes, i saw his posture, i saw his wide smile and i felt a calm in my stomach.
I have never met Micah. Yes, shame on me, bad manners on my part.
I have no excuse really just acceptance that i have not done what i have planned to do for a while. Forgive me Rach. I am just a procrastinator, with a quick apology.
In this picture
You have big beautiful eyes, i am not certain if that is a dark blue, purple or black but when i squint and look at you, your eyes cover half your face and tell me that you are of a pure heart.
Your smile, oh! The smile of a child, but yours is exceptional. I feel as though it was a laugh and the camera caught the moment
but no, it looks like a wide smile from a mouth that has not yet known teeth. The kind of smile that warms the heart and curls the toes.
I like that your parents gave you good hair, i would never forgive them if they didn't.
You have the cutest posture...look at your chubby little fingers, holding onto your pants. I can feel them around my neck but i can see them around your mothers neck, holding on tight because you know where you're safest.
I am amazed that time has flown this fast and that you can do all the things you do...i wonder what mischief you would be up to in the womb if she had had to carry you eighteen months. Forgive me Rach, i am simply wondering.
I pray Micah that you will grow into all of your names. I pray that you will grow into the man your parents are molding you to be, that you will pick up all their good and teach them all the light heartedness, forgiveness, kindness and boldness that comes with being at the stage you are at now.
I pray that your baby steps to adulthood will be daily lessons and encouragements to a stronger bond for mum and dad. That each time they look at you and the others that will follow you, they will remember just how beautiful a thing they can make together.
I have run out of words Micah, but i shall have more to say when i eventually do see you. I hope you have your mothers kind heart when i meet you and that you will smile at me and let me carry you a while.
Same for the eyes of an adult, but i feel that the adult eye has seen so much that sometimes pain is masked by gratitude and joy comes off simply as pretense.
I believe that the eyes of a child tell no lie.
I saw Micah's picture today...I saw his eyes, i saw his posture, i saw his wide smile and i felt a calm in my stomach.
I have never met Micah. Yes, shame on me, bad manners on my part.
I have no excuse really just acceptance that i have not done what i have planned to do for a while. Forgive me Rach. I am just a procrastinator, with a quick apology.
In this picture
You have big beautiful eyes, i am not certain if that is a dark blue, purple or black but when i squint and look at you, your eyes cover half your face and tell me that you are of a pure heart.
Your smile, oh! The smile of a child, but yours is exceptional. I feel as though it was a laugh and the camera caught the moment
I like that your parents gave you good hair, i would never forgive them if they didn't.
You have the cutest posture...look at your chubby little fingers, holding onto your pants. I can feel them around my neck but i can see them around your mothers neck, holding on tight because you know where you're safest.
I am amazed that time has flown this fast and that you can do all the things you do...i wonder what mischief you would be up to in the womb if she had had to carry you eighteen months. Forgive me Rach, i am simply wondering.
I pray Micah that you will grow into all of your names. I pray that you will grow into the man your parents are molding you to be, that you will pick up all their good and teach them all the light heartedness, forgiveness, kindness and boldness that comes with being at the stage you are at now.
I pray that your baby steps to adulthood will be daily lessons and encouragements to a stronger bond for mum and dad. That each time they look at you and the others that will follow you, they will remember just how beautiful a thing they can make together.
I have run out of words Micah, but i shall have more to say when i eventually do see you. I hope you have your mothers kind heart when i meet you and that you will smile at me and let me carry you a while.
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