119 YEAR OLD FATHERS CHILD

Filed Under: Artists Work, Artists Works, Life, Poems

by Messenjah

I am 119 years of age, and one day away from my last birthday

So this is an invite to help blow my last candle away

 

I write this for you

I write this to you

Right now as I write I try to make things right,

I just wish I could get this pen to make things write!

You know me quite well, I am a popular Bible figure, right?

Well allow me to introduce myself, I am the prodigal son.

 

My father knew me as:

An infant

Delicate, small

Crying, crawling and laughing

Loving comfort and security

A baby.

 

A school child

Curious and inquisitive

Learning, growing and playing

Enjoying the simplicity of life

A pupil.

 

A teenager

Experimental and adventurous

Seeking, voyaging and searching

Seeking identity in and out

An adolescent

 

An adult

Grounded and Responsible

Earning, working and building

Protecting the things around him

A grown up

 

Reflecting on my infantile days I recollect when you held me in your arms and told me

 

I am my father’s child

 

I remember you told you me about how you put your giant finger in my tiny little baby palm and said

 

I am my father’s child

 

I remember when you let go of the bicycle when you taught me how to ride it

You bandaged my scrapped knee when me and the ground collided

You taught me so much from your experiences when you’d share your stories

We sang our favourite songs when you took me on car rides

You told me

 

I am my father’s child

 

You dropped me at school and smiled whenever I passed

Called me a genius with an ovation and claps

Corrected me whenever I went my own way and strayed

Showed me love when I couldn’t love myself in anyway

You told me

 

“I am my father’s child

 

“But I dishonoured you, cried out for my inheritance that didn’t belong to me

The whole world is familiar with my treacherous story

I rebelled, hailed the stories of other kids and thought you were wrong

I was more inclined to social media trends than the place I came from

Despite you telling me

 

“I am my father’s child

 

“I camped in the wilderness of liquor streams and shisha trees

Vaping grass and spiked leaves

A weed breeze and women to please, soaked as clouds drain

Alcoholic drizzles and I went singing in the rain

Despite you telling me

 

“I am my father’s child

 

“When the storms came in and I shared the same pride as swine

I knew that I made the mistake of a lifetime

I realised I was a long way from home

I realised just how far I had gone

Away from the one who told me

 

“I am my father’s child

 

“I ran home, though I knew I couldn’t face the face of the one who pulled my age to what it was

My greed had successfully built indestructible Jericho walls

But you hugged me, your hug marched around my heart and showed me it was enough

To dissolve the rebellious barricade and turn my walls to dust

You told me

 

“I am my father’s child”

 

I am 119 years of age, and one day away from my last birthday

My son wrote this to me before he passed on, just when I invited him to help blow my last candle away

I never regretted telling my son he would always be his father’s child

My wrinkled face smiled, with the little energy I had left

We blew out our last candle at the same time, and we were both laid to rest.