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To Touch Home
I have managed to squeeze every bit of my body
inside a green colored suitcase and I am going to
find home in the mouth of
a place whose fire has long eloped with the wind.
I remember holding my sides with my fingers as laughs nearly
ruptured my body but now that place is a shadow, a redundant
figure of once it once was.
To touch home is too free your body from the ugly shackles that
are tying you to this place.
To touch home is to soak yourself in the pool of all those
sweet memories and hope you are carrying enough
To touch home is to hurry towards the sun and try not to
succumb to the death that kills bodies after donkey hours on
a non air conditioned bus where Tekno is spitting rubbish that your
countrymen revere and welcome with outstretched arms.
You should be welcomed too. To touch home however is to meet
faces changed by time, the economy and other demons.
There is no victory song. No music.
You are the pain that poets beautifully paint in beer-induced
Photo credit: Pixabay.
Michael Ifeanyi Akuchie is a Nigerian poet who hails from a town in Eastern Nigeria. He is currently an undergraduate student at the University of Benin, Nigeria.
His poems have appeared or have been featured on Praxis Magazine Online, Antarctica Review, Storried, Pencillite, Blue Parrot Magazine and others.
He loves cats.
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