Father’s cot.

fathers cot.jpg

Afbeelding Albert Neuhuys – Watching father work

Time is always ticking inside of my mind.
I do not remember a time, when i was sound.
Maybe in childhood, definitely not adolescence,
the last time that i was present,
not prone to self negligence.
Before all of the strenuous, tumultuous lessons,
visions of love, and trust, rolling in the dust.
Is it not too much to ask for something that is non reminiscent of love?
Last night, i had a dream of my father, through muffled whispers,
I told him..You hurt us, you deserted us, and now I am perpetually nervous,
anxious,
hyper sensitive,
wondering,
does this man love me so?
Will he too go?
Will we never ever get to grow?
Will i never ever know, is the fault mine,
or is he the very foe?
And he too,
and not to forget him from last year?
How long?
Before I call them all a villain, perhaps the villain lies within myself,
my own hell,
the world that i created through my father, i said to myself,
if he loveth me not, then why should any other of his kind not leave me to rot?

Fathers cot.

Cindy Anneh-bu
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