February 13th, 2012 § § permalink
(prompted by a free-writing exercise, includes bits of things I’ve written before.)
I don’t mind anymore that you died when you did.
It was too much for me at 6-years-old,
but now, I can take it.
It is better that you went when you did.
Death elevates, and you are greater for it.
Oh how they glorify you Daddy, they speak with such fondness.
You will always be the hero.
And I will never have to hate you
for not accepting the choices I make,
or the mistakes I swopped spit with.
You are unsullied to me Daddy;
Generous, buying me talking dolls and magnetised chess sets.
Erudite, leaving behind the library I feed off.
You, with your Bob Marley ties and feathered fedoras, you are super-cool daddy.
Oh how they love you Daddy, they remember your softness.
And I’m a sucker too, like that.
I’ve inherited your ears;
yielding sponge, soaking up sob-stories,
Absorbing the fabled and for-real.
I no longer grudge what you’ve passed on to me.
This bold nose,
and bolder-chin,
these little eyes,
It’s like you had to go so I could take your place.
December 26th, 2010 § § permalink
And maybe that’s why
it’s called Boxing day.
They put him in one
and took him away.
All wrapped up
in camphored ribbon,
calico-strung
ready for giving.
Express dispatched
postage free
fatiha*-stamped
delivery.
–
*opening chapter of the Holy Quran
February 28th, 2010 § § permalink
Until That Day
on which
in his
name I will
be called,
I will
be
called
in his name.
January 1st, 2010 § § permalink
Mummy asked about you Daddy,
Asked me why I didn’ write,
It’s not that you’re out of mind Daddy,
Just the words were not in sight.
I didn’ forget you Daddy,
Wasn’ that I didn’t care to write,
I know you get these letters Daddy,
That’s what they told me. Right?
We’re doin pretty good Daddy,
A whole old year has gone,
I slept through livin my dream, Daddy,
But this year I’m not sleepin on.
I’m gonna write these words Daddy,
Gonna write them until they sing,
You’re gonna hear my voice Daddy,
You’re gonna hear every string.
November 10th, 2008 § § permalink
it was a fault of shortsight.
to read chalk
on a blackboard;
the bridge between
seeing and learning,
built another
crooked bridge:
out of malleable bone
and pliable years.
And in the ninth,
heavy coke-bottle glass and names,
gave way to new sight
I could poke into my eyes every morning.
but still the nose
I wasn’t born with,
I said, ruined by spectacles so early on.
Fingers in mirrors trying to undo
the done, see,
this is what I’m meant to look like.
but now I see pictures
of daddy looking away,
profiles of a man
with perfect sight.
and I see a bridge
between him
and I.
Fingers in a mirror,
tapping a line, see,
this is what I look like.
December 26th, 2005 § § permalink
One more year has passed
With him insubstantial,
Buried under now sixteen anniversaries of resignation,
And the mantra Allah Has A Plan
And there’s a damn good reason why
I was given six nothing years
To know of the man
Who I see everyday
In my eyes
My nose of too much character
My dented chin.
One more year has passed,
With him substantial,
Buried under now sixteen anniversaries of definition,
And the slow steady work of
Walking through smoke of when
I was given six nebulous years
To know of the man
More with death than with life
And the spaces between
Who left me with Ludlum’s,
And a Bob Marley tie.