Luka

 12.41am Thursday 18/02/2026

As Jupiter is my witness, I swear tonight, if that child cries again it’s going to get ugly.

...

"Luka" is a critically acclaimed song by American singer-songwriter Suzanne Vega.

Released in May 1987, the song was a massive hit and won multiple awards. It seemed to come out of nowhere yet it talked about what everyone was well aware but was rarely reported in the media: child abuse. 

It is a beautifully crafted song. I nearly named my son Luka.

…

I hear the child disintegrating. If the abuse was physical I would have been on it in a shot, acted immediately, decisively. I understand the system very well, it has powers to do things that I cannot.

The single father is a fissure of toxicity with no adult outlet to relieve the pressure. An adult female would have more skills to escape the weaselling and dodging, the reek of the endless lies, the determination to manifest a deranged version of the world. 

The child howls until he makes no sound at all. Then he sleeps for the few hours left until he has to get up for school.

The father is shitfaced for sure if the conspiracy theories are still blasting out of his unit after 10pm. While the child absorbs the messages in fitful slumber.

The child is eager to please, personable and likes a chat. In the early days, he’d be sent down for batteries, cords, butter etc. In seconds he’d be sprawled on the lounge idly fingering the cat’s head as they watch the big screen. He never looked like he was leaving at all.

His father is always high and permanently on the run, keeping the child in a bubble of secrets as they move around the building. He knows the system too. He is Caucasian and speaks well of himself. They have weekly hair cuts. He gets the privileges he expects.

The child has developed a robotic way of speaking. Now his voice is rarely heard, beyond the crying that happens mostly in the evenings.

He loves colour and sheen. He is effortlessly agile and can make a game out of carting household rubbish if he is on his own. His blinds are permanently closed. TV screens on every wall, it’s a kaleidoscope of disruptive light 24 hours a day. 

The child knows there’s something wrong with his father, beyond being scared of the dark. The child knows his life is horrible.

The father, maybe he’s been deemed the best option? Maybe he doesn’t know what he is doing? Or maybe he does, and its beyond him to stop? 

He manages a complex intake of multiple drugs and money from wherever he can get it. He cannot manage rehab or abstinence, or moderation, or to risk living without any of the relief he’s convinced he requires. He’s isolated, fearful. 

Am I hurting the child? Are the rest of us in the building projecting as much loving kindness, our happiness to see him, and fun and safety in the tiny moments he’s free in the building – the child that exists in such a place, what does the world look like to them? 

He does not understand we bear witness with a purpose.

This is his home, it cares for him and it cries for him. But what will he learn? What is the man he becomes?

…

“Luka” was a song for a generation. If so named, my son would have never stopped being asked, “Oh Luka, like the song?”  The song was later recorded in Spanish. There’s not many places in the world he could go without someone asking him.

The name Luka symbolises “shining light”.

Siv Parker

House of Abundant Peace

2026