Home Misses Me.

And I’m making my way back.

Photo by Rowan Heuvel on Unsplash

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.