My Father’s Footsteps by Joel Washe #poetry

I now sleep on the same bed where my father used to sleep,
it feels cosy at night but in the morning I weep,
he snored with no rhythm,
he snored so loud and it told no tale, neither did it make me want to sleep,
it’s a hole so deep,
sometimes I drown in my own sweat,
sometimes it’s so hard that it makes my body ache,
I don’t want to sleep on it again,
but it’s the only bed there is in the house,
spooky feeling, slow healing,
the bedbugs won’t let me sleep,
they take away my pride of being a dreamer,
they say who doesn’t dream is as good as dead,
I feel dead for a moment as my dreams are nowhere to be found,
it’s a bed i never thought it would be hard for me to sleep on,
I now regard my father with a different eye,
the eye that never dances,
never blinks,
never stops being white,
that’s what being in my father’s shoes feels like.

Photo by Wendelin Jacober from Pexels

About the Poet

I am a writer who writes about everything: culture, life, people’s thoughts, imaginations etc. I live in Kenya, Mombasa to be precise( beautiful and strong culture). Walking makes everything great!

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