…One fateful day, the engine gave its last sigh,
We pushed the car to the roadside high.
Daddy’s apologies were not in vain,
As strangers assisted, I saw love’s enduring stain…
Since I was born, daddy bought us books. He was a writer himself, writing stories in notebooks that ended up in corners of the house, unpublished. Had my father been born in more recent times, he’d be a great writer, I think. But he dreamed, wrote and worked hard to give his children an education, because writing would never put food on the table.
I was always the quiet one, daddy’s favorite. I kept to myself, often fully immersed in story books and getting lost in my imagination. My earliest memories are of me swimming in seas of books in my father’s small living room, listening to music from his stereo – Abba, Celine Dion, Sade Adu – and relating these songs to the stories that I read at the time. So when I listen now to music from Celine Dion, I remember Pocahontas and The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Sade reminds me of Beauty and the Beast.
And when the weight of the first daughter started to hold me down, when I had to grow up very fast, I learned never to complain, but to find comfort in my diary.
Daddy already knew what his daughters would be. His first daughter would be a doctor because she was very reserved, and his second would be a lawyer because she had a sharp mouth. His sons would be whatever they wanted to be. So when he saw us all explore our art, he was disappointed. He never wanted me to write, so when he saw that I attended school debates and won, he tried to talk me out of it all. He would not sit and watch his dream of seeing me become a doctor disappear.
He got me books in medicine hoping that they would interest me. and while those books intrigued me, I always found solace in my writing. Then I discovered blogging. The anonymity of the internet gave me a freedom I knew I needed. I could write without fear of judgment, so I carved my thoughts into poetry and little diary entries stories that connected with my soul.
Years later, I still write and I don’t plan to ever stop.
DADDY’S OLD TOYOTA
Daddy's old Toyota, a faded blue friend,
Collected memories, till the very end.
Seven years of laughter, tears, and endless miles,
Etched on its worn seats, like wrinkles on a wise smile.
With Daddy at the wheel, I felt at home,
His hands guiding us, through roads we'd roam.
The wind swept through, as the landscape flew,
Daddy pointing out wonders, old and new.
One fateful day, the engine gave its last sigh,
We pushed the car to the roadside high.
Daddy's apologies were not in vain,
As strangers assisted, I saw love's enduring stain.
Though the car's gone, memories remain,
Of Daddy's love, forever stuck in my brain.
A symbol of sacrifice, of endless devotion,
A father's love, my heart's eternal emotion.
With every mile, a lesson was learned,
Resilience, love, and a heart that yearned.
Daddy's old Toyota was more than just a ride,
A journey of love, it was forever by my side.
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