Home Misses Me.
And I’m making my way back.
I am
alone in the dark forest,
filled with unfamiliar shadows;
voices that fill me with
unrest.
The food tastes abhorrent.
And the dialects;
they pierce my ears,
like the early afternoon’s ray
on my little eyes.
I feel the need to coil my corpse;
to become one with the nothingness
that engrosses my being
in the blanket of blankness.
Memories come strong,
of places,
where I could sit;
legs opened,
arms wide for an embrace,
from the little buildings of home.
I can only hope for the day
I will look into mother’s pot again
and proudly lift a largely sized meat
from her okra soup.
The fights with siblings;
Where I always took,
the trophy.
The sweet scents of the Savanna,
while roaming with my bandana.
And I dare say, “Home misses me?”
No. I lie.
I miss Home.
I want Home.
