Poetry, Tale Africa

All dreams are well…

By Percy Matlala, South Africa:

I used to go up to the roof every night

To talk to my dead 'run away' father

Hoping to free the anger

Free the questions, or possibly ask more

Free the memories that have no tomorrow

Memories that take me back,

and never come back

Hoping to free him

Sometimes up there, the wind blow so hard

It blows away life

And the pouring rain, paint away my tears

As the sun rises every morning

With a new day, a new dawn, a new light

I still dream of seeing him

I dream of my children

The love I would give them

I know

I’ll never see him, never talk to him, never nothing

But it’s okay to dream every now and then

It fills the sense of life, the empty holes of hope

I now wonder what he would say to me

How would he stand in front of me?

Whether smile, laugh, hug or even cry for the man I have grown to be

And it’s funny how people’s doings always leave an achy scar on our hearts

Slowly but surely, our tears melt them into a perfect soul

And as I feel his presence up there every night

I pray it may snow and freeze up my heart, and colour the rain tears to ashes

Hoping… …

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