how do you call a place that makes you to hate yourself?
should it be called home?
let us assume in this poem you are like a freely falling body.
you fall many times on the hard ground to the extent that similes & metaphors cannot repair those wound tissues in your body.
this means/ you are learning how to hold grief like a widow whose lover took a voyage with death on her pre-wedding night.
this is the meaning of home – in liberia,
our mother’s children continue to dig up themselves until there are no leftovers.
many people have prayed/ some fell in love with the holy spirit/ others engaged the church with Christ on their lips.
but this home of ours/ it has refused to hearken to our cries/
& the testimonies of girls & boys who travel distances in search of freedom.
1 Comment
Nice piece there Olu!
231 can relate….🇱🇷
I like how yu painted real life in Liberia
Bigger respect…
God bless Liberia
#sfi_writeliberia
#Wewriteliberia
#liberianpoetry