Path

Location

Nigeria

My father's hand is a pathfinder,
paving the ways for me.
When I stray away from the path
or whenever the waves of life raged at me
attempting to swallow me,
or tear me into debris,
I could feel his hands smoothing on my body,
like the way he did
when I first drew my breath.

My father's voice is an ocean,
which echoes my name in unknown tongues,
whenever life tries to make a caricature of me.
I got drowned in his voice,
and I was born-again,
I became a light
too bright for darkness to loom around.

This poem is about: 
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741