Wednesday, 28 September 2016

Mud houses

Mud Houses

the houses
in my paradise
are rusty, muddy,
broken and hurt..

our houses have seen
years of turmoil
they are bloodied,
exploited by time..

i reminisce my hometown,
when i see the glimpses
of merry houses on hills,
and hustling markets around..

i remember our naivety
our poverty and pain..

i feel the mothers'
wounded hearts,
shrouded dead, graves
and erroded lives..

in all this,
i recall the smell
of my soil,
its marks my identity,
my soul
and my ultimate refuge!


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