When I was but seven years young,
My father and I, stride side by side
Down Oremeji, a street where silent stories talked,
Our steps in harmony, our bound the guide.

He set forth to chase
Our sustenance, our daily need.
While I was left in a place,
a fortress of rules where children heed.

Barbed wire crowned the walls,
Where freedom's wings were clipped.
Routine checks, the echoing calls,
Through gates so high like giants,
Tall and stern.

I was apparently there to learn life's script,
page by page.

As the years peeled away,
like grains through an hourglass.

Now I walk Oremeji's path alone,
A solitary figure, yet content.
My father's lessons,
Close to heart,
In every step, his wisdom
and presence
felt.
© 독자 (Dokja)