Title: On coming home
by Ria | in writing, poetry
My dusty plains call to me.
Sun beats on trodden paths.
Around me I see the brightly
coloured, cloths, covering
my native women.
Pride! Purpose!
I smell the thirst
of my people,
exclamations for empathy.
I feel our poverty,
settling with the dust
on my garments.
I taste,
desperation,
That is my own,
reflected in faces
of strangers dear to me.
The Solidness
Of. Emptiness
Is. Devoured
By me. Completely
but
overflows.
My greedy, craving
Mouth.
Pride? Purpose?
I see your smiling face;
Salam wa Alakom;
Enter your warm embrace,
I am HOME.
Arriving at the airport in my home country... the first impressions that will always come... until we change what we choose to represent
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