I'm Home Father, I'm Home

I'm Home Father, I'm Home

Adulthood knocked on my door years ago,

Asks me to roll my bags silently 

And knock down these walls I call home. 

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*

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Home is my dream as a little lad,

Brewed on the west side of the black soil,

To wake, to sleep and enjoy the food

That comes with being a young playful lad. 

Home has no rhythm here,

I am far away from home,

Far and close to what home rings like,

In the middle of two side of the coasts,

Father's house, mother's bosom,

And all what I knew as home. 

Adulthood knocked on my door years ago,

Asks me to roll my bags silently 

And knock down these walls I call home. 

And now, home resides in my body,

In my blood veins, I wear it like marks, 

I carry it around in the bowel of my stories. 

Home,

You have become a lullaby for me to sleep,

Not in Bàbá's fragile walls,

You live in me, through me

I find you to be more than just four walls,

But an ideology to the core of my needs

And desires, and you can always call home,

Want to be at home, say, chose home. 

I've woken up from the slumber of being

A young and playful lad,

I'm home father, I'm home. 

Kore Akarakiri '21

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'Kore Akarakiri is a poet for Arkore Writes. He's a student of life and learns from it.

He studies English at Obafemi Awolowo University, ILÉ-IFÈ.