Sixty days since December, 

A lot has changed from the furthest i can remember, 

Yes, Like Amber, 

My new daughter with the town’s celebrity plumber, 

( Now that’s not the funny part so don’t crack it yet, infact no comedy is intended here at all!) 

Sons and daughters, 

Offsprings of reckless nights and flash considerations, 

Granted life by a guilty conscience brewed from the ten accords back in my youth when “the God’s child” still lived in me. 

“Who’s my father?”



The Church Deacon, 

Well, It wasn’t an angel that brought forth the request or message about your birth, 

A child concieved of a holy spirit – man, it was no Bible story, 

You are a memory that lives to haunt my past and blurred my future even as much as i try to shake it off, 

An eclipse that shadowed my faith in God and sucked up hope drowning it with everything i ever dreamt of, 

“Respect Your Elders And You Shall Live Long ”

That was the bible son, the holy book that bound the faith of every Christian but blinded my very eyes from predicting the patterns of mischief and lifelong trauma. 

Had i had the chance to relive it, I’ll die in the morning, 

Before mama’s call to take my deceased father’s Bible to that soulless creature! 

I’m sorry son, sometimes i didn’t  kiss you goodnight just to have a good sleep without nightmares!. 



Officer Richard  James, 

They called him thr the African-White Man, beloved of the blacks in South Africa ! 

Kind and gentle, 

Took the duty to serve to his heart and held it close by, 

That name’s still a sale at the county police,  

Gave you the same to solidify the resemblance for some child support but i forgot, 

The police are law enforcers so somehow they’re Supreme to the law. 

Saved me from a month in those stinking caves with ancient graphiti they dare call correction facilities, 

Are they the same which the budget allocated millions for their renovation last year? 

Who knows? Anyway, 

A good man i could say, 

He could wish the doctrines about police conduct and general codes of humanity will share the same thought, 

Let alone anticorruption units and his wife! 

It was just a poor lady hawking cheap goods in rich man’s land and a ‘gentleman’ extended a hand to help, 

Don’t you think so? 

Somewhere they must have told you about man-eat-man society, 

We’re true worshipers in that religion son, 

Mother was dying from cancer and your elder brother was still a toddler. 

I had to. 



Now you, 

What was your father’s name again? 

What did he even look like apart from the stubborn self i see in you? 

He should be some crack dealer or hired security at a local club, one of those playing that loud bullshit making me sing your little sister back to sleep thousands of times each night! 

Im sure you’ve been to one with your uptown high-end living friends you worship at school, 

Dreaming about Hollywood nights living like Paris Hilton in the State Of An Empire, 

Defaulting in school fee payments because you believe the money i clean up filthy homes for is best buying you lipsticks than knowledge, 

I wish i could burst out a laugh but sympathy is overwhelming my dear, 

Oh, now am being too hard on you? 

The reason you can’t post good grades even when I tire all day to buy you a Disney pencil pouch! 

Then suddenly i should feel touched and apologize to you, 

“Honey I’m Sorry “,” So so…”

A psychologist is out of grip for my pockets but a tip or two you should really consider,

Your mother isn’t a role model, neither is the hype! 



Dear son, 

How’s school going? I know i missed the format up there but a letter is still one if the message goes through. Your mid-term report was delivered a week ago and the grades are still amazing though that’s no call for reluctance. You can still be better.  Just like your father. 

Let’s say wasn’t a good listener and composed as troubles have shaped me to be in these times, 

A man sat at the table in a corner and asked for a cold beer from a worn out bar maid working extra hours to feed her three kids back home with a neighbor,  

Two weeks before she was fired for refusing to go under the sheets with her boss,

This one time out of a couple times he made her do it with a threat on losing the job she so needed to keep her load rolling down the plank. 

I think that was Sarah’s father, 

Now i recall the face of that dreaded monster with that strong Arabian accent, 


That was him! 

Anyway, that man at the bar lived to shelter a stranger with three hungry children for two long months, 
Eating and crying on his left arm as his right struggled to finish his book, 

“The Pigs” He called it, 

Pigs who ate the whole lot of fresh food in the farm to the remains left for low lifes,  

Pigs which tarmacked our lives with lies and false promises weeks before elections so they could run their heavy flashy mortocardes, 

Purchased from German dealers with “National projects'” money, running on tonnes of fuel catered for by the “government” over pricing the same on citizens, 

The same pigs that sold numerous copies of your father’s hardwork and never paid him a dime before imprisoning him for insulting the “state powers” because he sued them, 

And in all this, this woman right here wasn’t anywhere close because she’d chosen to leave long before, 

His stories were boring, he’d done enough for them, he was too good for her, 

He had a graduated  British accent from Oxford that she didn’t like it (or understood it-its a dropout disease ) 

Too many blank reasons son. Just too many to run away back to the past where no golden days had been seen. 

 Still an innocent man, 

To his last breath behind bars built  by demons fighting truth and justice throughout the systems , 

To the depths where he lays awaiting apocalypse, 

Took great care of his son! To his last insurance policy.  

Enough of today’s writing.
Always stand by the right pillars through your eyes so the world won’t crumble and drag you down with it, 

Prepare and care to ask before acting, 

Success has less room for mistakes, 

The timezones too might be corrupted, chase time with all your stamina. 

Stay safe son, 

Your Truly. 


Who else has a father question ?
Young man! 

Please go play with the neighbor’s children, 

It’s a blessed society we live in, 

Loyal descendants of Adam and the woman*, 

Eve was once someone i called “mother” 

Long Long before Tony’s father,

When i was this little angel singing in the church, summoning the holy ghost to the dias with a voice Maya Angelou admired, 

‘You’re Alpha and Omega…’ and the angels seemed to fly yonder singing the praise with us, 

With brother John Nkubu, the ministry’s most dignified deacon! 

He loved children! Mother’s loved him, both for his great personality and PHYSIC! 

That was the type of my mother,

The long praying holy women chosen by God through the lamb. 

The mother’s that don’t listen to their daughters’ cries, neither believe a doctor’s report on the same, 

Just because the author of this horror story is a director in their erotic movies and preacher of gospel he knows nothing of, 

It’s called church people, Church! 

Go boy! 

Mama’s stories are always sad. 

When you grow old you protect your little sister, 

She doesn’t have to be a writer of such a story, 

People no longer read these anymore, 

Come on, all those fashion magazines with super model covers? 

All those comic books or alien superheroes and human bats? 

You’ll even be crazier reading than listening to some new school jams about sex, drugs and money, 

What more moral lessons could you be asking for? 

Its a great world but the fact that some parts are tearing away doesn’t mean that we throw away the cloth, 

The fabric still has some strength, 

You can sew it back together. 


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