Recalling Home from Exile
Godwin Akinyele
The voice of my home
Calling so loudly
The views ever so cherished
Do forever at me wink
The red dust so-called
Preferred always above golden floors
The pauper's decayed tooth
Forever owns their mother's water-pot
Like spider cherishes webs above mansions
And as nest preferred by birds to many paradises
So do I cherish my hut above a palace I own not.
Home, for which I forever long,
The disturbing ‘kukuruku’ of the dawn
The ‘Alawakubaru’ of the early morning
The useful yet undesirable sounds
Of the wandering free ranges
They all arrived before the smiling of the day.
Nostalgia, my feeling when weighed:
The pain of leaving everything behind
The joy of an escape into a constrained liberty
Where we gladly embrace Hobson’s choice.
The voice of my home,
Calling so loud
The views of my mountains
Which sends a comforting sense of peace
The thought of the little river ‘Sasawuru’
Washing my feet willy nilly
When shall I stop seeing home when away from home?
When again shall I see my home?
Not home, it's the faces I am ever used to.
Not faces but the minds and characters that I know.
Though I eat chicken’s thights,
The tastes aren't like the bush meet.
Regressive, all it seems,
But again, I ask:
Is anything like home?
Though I enjoy the paradise of the earth
My heart remains where grounded my root –
My home!
Calling so loudly
The views ever so cherished
Do forever at me wink
The red dust so-called
Preferred always above golden floors
The pauper's decayed tooth
Forever owns their mother's water-pot
Like spider cherishes webs above mansions
And as nest preferred by birds to many paradises
So do I cherish my hut above a palace I own not.
Home, for which I forever long,
The disturbing ‘kukuruku’ of the dawn
The ‘Alawakubaru’ of the early morning
The useful yet undesirable sounds
Of the wandering free ranges
They all arrived before the smiling of the day.
Nostalgia, my feeling when weighed:
The pain of leaving everything behind
The joy of an escape into a constrained liberty
Where we gladly embrace Hobson’s choice.
The voice of my home,
Calling so loud
The views of my mountains
Which sends a comforting sense of peace
The thought of the little river ‘Sasawuru’
Washing my feet willy nilly
When shall I stop seeing home when away from home?
When again shall I see my home?
Not home, it's the faces I am ever used to.
Not faces but the minds and characters that I know.
Though I eat chicken’s thights,
The tastes aren't like the bush meet.
Regressive, all it seems,
But again, I ask:
Is anything like home?
Though I enjoy the paradise of the earth
My heart remains where grounded my root –
My home!
The Poet Godwin Akinyele is a UK-based Nigerian, an LLB (Law) graduate of University of London, a qualified senior paralegal, a passionate writer, a speaker, an advocate for refugees and asylum seekers. Godwin hosted the Refugees Week in 2020 with over 100 attendees, including Members of the Senedd. Godwin has won several awards and was recently invited by the King of the United Kingdom. He’s Married to Victoria with kids.
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