An Ode to my Father

The scent in the air was to die for! So much cleaner than it is at the city. The environment serene, so calm, so peaceful. Apart from the two voices that could be heard from a distance as they worked on their farm and the chirping of birds, there was nothing much to listen to. But I loved it like that. I hated waking up daily in the city to the sound of neighbors' children yelling out to their parents as they left for work. Why do babies wake up so early? I hated walking to work and enjoying the fresh air only to be met with smoke from someone who thought it best to light his cigarette so early in the day. I hated smoke from very old creaky matatus whose owners could not entertain the thought of servicing their vehicles.

The dew lay sparkling on the grass, I stood there looking away into the horizon almost in a trance savoring every bit of the beauty that was the countryside. It was a beautiful morning with the yellow sun's rays gently seeping into my skin. It really did feel like my skin was being rejuvenated, like the feeling you get when you finally get your hands on that piece of chicken that you have been craving so badly. I didn't know whether to keep walking or to go back into the house. My mind seemed to say keep walking but my legs just stood there like a very stubborn child.

It had been four years you see, and it still hurt so badly, it still felt like there was a big lump in my throat, like the pit of my stomach had been destroyed and my heart was about to burst out of my chest every time I thought about it. Like really thought about it. Forget about the subtle sadness that comes when you think about it but keep busy with other things. I was here now, at his graveside having managed to drag my feet along with my heart.

There were so many things I wanted to say but i didn't know if I should after-all the dead cannot hear or speak to us. For a moment I looked down at the white marble grave and wondered if he knew that I was here, if he could hear me, if he would have liked to talk to me. Of course I know he would have loved to talk to me. I stood there and wiped a tear as my heart recited a poem by Melanie Henton:


"Don't cry for me, Don't
Don't shed a tear
I am home now, no pain,
no fear..."

As I walked away, I realised that I got so much of who I am from him. I wanted to write an ode to my father, I wanted to sing a song to my father, but as sure as the sun rises in the East, I am all I want to write and sing.  If I could sum it all up I'd probably just say I AM MY FATHER'S DAUGHTER!