Too Young To Drive, Too Strong To Stop Poem by Linus Kithinji Njeru

By a Father in a Dream

At 2: 37, the silence broke,
The screen blinked blue, the house still spoke.
My phone lay cold—uncharged, asleep,
But something stirred me from the deep.

A dream had stirred the buried flame,
And when I rose, I spoke her name.
Vanna—my daughter, not yet six,
Was driving cars and pulling tricks.

We stood in Kirigiti's dust,
Near shops where engines age and rust.
The roundabout, the morning air—
And there was Vanna, driving there.

No shoes, no seat, no license earned,
But how she steered, how wheels had turned!
I shouted, "Brake! Just hit the brake! "
The kind of prayer a dream can make.

She stopped—O mercy, she obeyed,
But then reversed and drove away.
Toward Kiambu, like one who knew
Which path to take, and what to do.

I ran—barefoot, mind a storm,
No time to care for proper form.
I chased her shadow down the street,
My heart the drum, my soul the beat.

A motorbike came near at last,
But I had run too far, too fast.
He caught me just as breath grew thin—
I jumped, "Let's go—my daughter's in! "

But roads bent wrong, and time was strange,
We veered through towns beyond my range.
He dropped me off at Muthaiga's gate,
And said, "Twenty bob won't take you straight."

I begged him, "Please, just one more ride—
My child is gone, my heart can't hide."
But then the dream flipped like a page—
I stood in Mother's village stage.

And there, like echoes from the past,
An old love—Sarja—wanders past.
She asks, "Why mumble plates so low? "
But there's no time for tales of woe.

Then came the soldiers, proud and clean,
Their trucks rolled in, their boots unseen.
One woman walked and gave salute—
I stepped aside, stayed dumb and mute.

We almost touched—too close, too warm,
Her smile, a calm before the storm.
I saw I wore a soldier's coat,
Though never issued, never wrote.

They bowed with silent, quiet grace—
Respect I'd longed for, face to face.
They came for me—my seat was near,
I chose the back, still gripped by fear.

And still, my Vanna drove ahead,
A child alone, but spirit-led.
The dream refused to show her end—
But deep inside, I felt, She's penned.
She's safe, she knows just what to do—
The seed I planted somehow grew.

Then came a hall, a noisy crowd,
My wife stood firm, my name spoke loud.
She pointed at a lady there—
A wedding guest with Paris air.

She'd sent me photos, full of pride,
A birthday trip, a man beside.
But in the dream I saw the truth—
It wasn't fun—it wasn't youth.
A checkup's reason stole the shine—
Not every light is meant to blind.

And then another face returned,
Janxt, whom younger fires had burned.
I lifted her, a passing laugh—
But put her down when my wife crossed paths.
We walked away, no words to say,
Some things we love, we must outlay.

And last, I stood in places old,
Where life once beat and stories told.
A mechanic spoke of things to fix,
A car that hadn't turned since six.

But that old street, that rusting door,
I visit it in dreams—no more.
The car was mine, but not today,
Some parts must die before we pray.

I woke with sweat upon my skin,
The night still dark, the ache within.
My daughter drives—my past still weeps,
But hope runs deepest while one sleeps.

And when the dawn breaks soft and wide,
I'll chase her still—with love and pride.
For even if I lose the race,
A father's heart will never waste.