The Questions
THE QUESTIONS- a poem to my father.
How do you sleep when your dreams keep you awake?
How do you feel when you try your daddy’s shoes and wonder if your foot will ever fit?
How do you dance in the rain when your tears are enough to baptize you?
How do stay calm when all of nature has rebelled against your cognition?
How do you make a horse drink from fresh waters of your own picking?
How do you build an architectural edifice from a thought?
How do you stay tranquil in the midst of a raging storm?
How do you not wake up from your sleep and yell “BLOODY HEAVENS”?
How do you close your eyes to the biting teeth of a child you fed from your laboring hands?
How do you give water to neighbors when your tank is not promised of a refill by the morning?
How do you build a name so big that it humbled the lips of your children?
How do you weep into a basin until the basin feels like a basket, as your hot tears bore holes into its base?
How do you not shiver when the cold harmattan breeze threatens your consciousness?
How do you do it really?
How do you work like a worker bee and still tend to family like a mother hen?
How do you become a bridge for your children into a land of opportunity?
How can a son repay you for sowing the seeds of wisdom into his bitter life?
What are the things that a father must say to a son at the doorstep of a gamble house; a gamble for the glory or fall of the family heritage?
How are you not offering a shivering handshake with sweaty palms when you sign a deal that wagers your life?
How are you just one man?
How can I be half of the half of your whole?
How can I focus like a sniper to its target?
How do you believe in a religion that aims to understand or imagine the grandiosity of God; A religion that seeks to explain sin?
How do you walk on tight rope with a blindfold?
How big is your heart?
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