“Only trace of a father is his last name,
Haunted by night, distressed by day,
Still didn’t curve what kept him sane,
What kept him safe, what kept him sound,
In a hood where peace ain’t found,
Must be the ink from the biro,
That heals took the sorrow,
Some have friends, drugs or bottles,
In the ends thugs as models,
Gran was queen,
Gasoline to his dream,
Blade to his plane,
Art in his frame”

~Gbenga the Author~