The Rope and the Red Eyes

Barely seeing afar after the mountain

I stood on arid grounds in thoughts
Held close by a belief of a helping hand
Yet in public, life tale unfold in tears

Called to just be, where questions wore thick coats

And answers escaped the mind before giving birth to solutions.

There he was,

Standing at the peak of life

A rope in hand, a voice to encourage

An eye to assist to unearth the path
While shielding bad winds

Pierced by the world's whirlwinds

For my purpose.

There he was,

To comfort a kid

Unknown to a mother's touch

Bewildered by life's platter

Shadow breaking behind curtains

Yet he tored them to assist

Sighting victory on the kid's behalf.

There he was,

Hands burnt for my sake

Feet blisted for the same

Eyes reddened for the same

Head spinning for the same

Yes tired, but still soldiering on

For the kid, the world is never enough...

    You know, it's hard to see someone's value while there are still around only to realize their worth when there are gone. This have been my case so far, missing my dad who stood by us when mum was not around anymore. To many, this might sound strange because often men are the one who leave their families after their spouse is gone. In my case it was the opposite as my father was the only one who shielded us from family politics, which so prevelant in African families. I am sure most of us can testify about this. So reflecting to that, the day my father passed the reality of family politics became our daily bread. Having to grow up in sprint to learning to navigate the whole landmine of family drama.