What mountains must I climb and what armour should I gather?
To lift the weight that is your death,
On a day like today,
When I am spun into a Matrix,
Time a foreigner to your death,
A false concept draping this narrative,
A multifaceted, disjointed jigzaw, in which I try to piece together the remains of the Man that once was,
My ears never unheard what was said,
A story plastered within my eyes,
2009,
The year when the walls of my home collapsed,
The very substance that cemented together any hope left,
Was rung out like wildfire,
In front of children in a home which rebuked love,
Yet you were the gold that flowered the days,
I was not allowed to go near your grave,
Found myself hunched between a river of women chanting prayers,
Foreigners to my everyday,
A daughter who was not allowed to grieve for her own father,
I guess that is why I have been a flood since your death,
Today, you will find me in the same position, oceans away,
Hunched over a picture that has your spirit plastered over it,
Soil, rich in body that was not worthy of leaving,
Weeping in memory of images so vivid,
Reviving your spirit, in remembrance,
Every Poem is an Ode to your remembrance,
I wish I could state that the affliction has stopped,
That the grief has changed,
But it has not,
Time heals,
Time is Origami
Fold it, Change it,
Break the paper in different ways,
But it does not change the bond,
Time is a foreigner to your death,
And I am the Origami,
I am the pieces of paper that came from you,
That is why my ink my soul onto this parchment,
Isn’t it so beautiful?
How the ashes that fell from my chest at the announcement of your death,
Now provide this smouldering heart of mine, the same life,
Your death created me,
I write to share, but there is no language to describe the dead,
There is no tongue in which I can lay on paper to ignite the ache I feel inside of me,
2009 did not fly by,
Autumn stopped becoming Spring,
Summer never came again,
It is 2019,
My summer flooded me as if to awake me,
Confront me at how far we have all come,
The winter is coming,
and I have never felt so ready to feel the harshness of the cold,
Times have repeated,
My home crippled from roots,
I am the embodiment of a broken child,
And my God,
I have never thrived further,,
To know that a seed was planted in Ash,
On the day of your death,
And now I have bloomed,
Thankyou Daddy.
The Real OG