Father's Room
Homeward, on an hungry belly
En-route a quick long trek, perhaps
It’s the hard day-after-day norm
And the poor little boy is mind-full
He deserves some respite–
and even more
If only to furnish a compleat cycle
But, couching in an utopian suite,
was miles from the priority–
‘twas scarce and sparse;
like rainfall in the Sahara
Maybe it had to be invented-
a make-shift
Not a very likely pick really:
Plastered with harmattan dust
Everywhere strewed with literature
and scrap
and other features
of sanguine entropy
But no more of pleasurable comfort
Howbeit, with serenity and quietude,
it was his choice
Preferred above the Burj
Such was the incubator his mind reveled in -
Sandwiched like a worm in a book
in the tranquility of darkness
And when the dawn enters
It does with refreshing enthusiasm,
For there was enriching activity
in father’s room
Copyright © Ogaga Eruteya | Year Posted 2017
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