Your father’s house
Your father’s house was once a home.
He was the sun that kept your heart warm,
Now he’s the sun that burns your warm heart.
You and him were best friends,
Until growing up made you realize that he was just an arm around your mother’s neck.
She screams without any sound escaping her mouth,
Like a guitar with no strings.
When her eyes start dropping sad melodies,
You sing along because you caught him red handed.
Your father’s house is now a desert,
When you go there your throat gets dry,
And he has no love to quench your thirst,
Every flower in your soul dies,
Yet when reality looks into your eyes,
It reminds you that it’s still your Father’s house.
Busisiwe is a young writer who is looking forward to starting a career in writing and performing poetry because of her love for it. She desires to touch hearts and change lives through her work