HOME HUNGRY YEARNINGS.
We have walked our feet to dirty muds be-
cause our belly sought bread and manna.
we have walked across the ocean and we've
been shown the sacrilegious act of pain.
a brother has the skin of the night, so
he is to be buried beneath a sun. —
so he works like a tractor while he begs
for bread. we are songs lost in a trapped wind,
hoping one day, the remains will be tak'n
home and buried. after all, harmattan
rustles in this shore is as the clap of
leaves in father's town and it reminds me
of home. and relief in distress. it's my
sameness. if home greets me not, my remains will.
"words from the innocent mind"