One’d

by Christos Polydorou

I am walking, away : now,
from the debris, and the collapses :
of golden era, Western cities
and the crumbling monuments
turning to dust and the
beautiful sculptures
blown to bits. I am walking away : now,
from it all, the hair on your back,
the anger in your eyes,
the walls you build,
with your own two hands,
to keep us inside,
a fatherless house,
or rather a house,
where a father crouched,
like a wild animal.

It is not a home.

It was never safe.

I wanted to run away for as long as I can remember.

I am walking away from it all : now,
from the way you never saw me,
exactly,
as I was; how you never
understood
what I could do, if you left me
to my own devices
to do it.

MY SON THE ARTIST!!!

You said it, with such derision.

With such shame.

You shook your head.

How was I supposed to feel?

Years of this, until I had enough.

Which way does the beat go?
I follow it. It is
dance. It is
music. It is absolute
freedom.
In this
universe, we

are all fatherless
orphans,
not sure
what to do
with our gold
halos.

One day.

One day.

One day.

 

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