Tuesday, 17 January 2012

And If He Were Alive

I would want him to just tell me stories, whether fantasy, real life or horrors,
I would want him to wrap me in his words enchanted as he paints scenarios as real as my touch towards another, fixated for he must have been a storyteller without knowing
Raising 6 girls is no easy task but in his eyes, when I arrived, I was special, the only male, spoilt rotten mum says.
If he were alive I Would want him to teach me the way of life.
I wonder whether I carry his traits subconsciously, he loved me, I know that much
An African man, belly out as the sun beams, drink chilled in his own comfort.
Mum explains he rubbed alcohol on my tooth when it ached, and as much as they disagreed, he remained silently stubborn, resting all talk as I soon slept
and if he were alive
I would not want to let go.
Excuses like a child would rail off my tongue as if my breath was the last..
Yes, for I would want him to myself because you have had him for so long and as much as I remember his youthful face, I would have loved to see him at his old.
Feel the hardship in his hands, see the journey through his eyes
A puzzle of scattered pieces I'm still finding myself and if he were alive, he would help me
I miss that feeling I can't recall having, faint memories and if I could turn back time, there would be no point, for I was merely smiles. No words.

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