My Living Dead Father


Every time I see my father

I see Hell as a human.”


My body is a room.

I hanged my father’s portrait

On the wall of emotional traumas

around my heart.

My heart is the place,

I learnt how to make use of pain

as a recipe for excellence.

His portrait hurts me

every time I open and close my eyes.


I am curious / about the semantic meaning of / the word father.

Does father mean bad?

as in the aroma of

a six days old cadaver.

This is how I learned of his death:

I cannot perform a necropsy on him

because he is the aroma of an un-smelled sadness

anytime he drove home at night

by 10pm.


I lived with the stereotype

That the father is a symbol

For hard work

and an image of Sisyphus 

rolling the stone

so that his children could climb higher

but father is nothing like Sisyphus

but a stone

in the form of anxiety.


My father is a clown:

a man who goes to a funeral

to crack silly jokes.

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