My Father Has Two Lives – Ola TheRAWPoet
What if I ask you about your father? “I once asked…
Once upon a vintage of black and white
A time when the air was stiff with violence
A season of vengeance and dark Knights
Everything was tolerable but tolerance
The Elders sat on low stools with hurt painted in their eyes
And the youths inches lower with limbs crossed
Ears pricked to hear the ache in the voices of the wise
As they were told the old tales of rage and wars.
Culture against culture, humanity against humanity
Anger sharpened in wrath, swords of grudges drawn
Nothing but blood and howls of pains were guaranteed
And the only weapon they employed made them weep on
They treated everything as an enemy
Refusing to learn the art of fighting without fighting
Nor laid aside the deathly effects of acrimony
Which leaves innocent hearts aching.
The elders stood up and walked away in pains
As the young lads stared at their bare backs
That had alphabets of scars and parched bloodstains
Written in regrets and paragraphed in cracks.