Illegitimate Child
I was born in absence—
not just of a father,
but of the myth of one.
Raised by silence,
I searched for manhood
in shadows and wounds.
My name is Oedipus rewritten—
not in fate,
but in affection never given.
My sister wears men like seasons,
because no one taught her
what protection felt like.
A home is soul-architecture:
a mother to nurture,
a father to protect.
Remove one—
the child wanders inward,
into crime, confusion, or ache.
Today, fathers are exiled—
emasculated by law,
their authority turned to shame.
And mothers are told:
“You can be both.”
But God was not a fool
to design a house
with two pillars,
not one.
Fatherless children often fall—
not from evil,
but from emptiness.
Society fractures
when the family fails.
No policy can replace
a father’s voice
or a child’s peace.
If this silence continues,
humanity won’t perish in war,
but in quiet homes
where no one knows
what love should feel like.
Copyright © Chanda Katonga | Year Posted 2025
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