TAKE ME HOME

TAKE ME HOME

This Poetry was found in the skulls of vagabonds
Its lines were weaved by the pains of home seekers
Whose songs can only be heard by Angels
Angels who can't but count their pains like Sandy beans
They sing songs of loss, of home long gone, of home burnt
Of not knowing what home feels like, of bullets and guns
Of shame, of regrets, of blinking happiness, of joyless nights
Of the cold breeze that caress them under flyovers, of leftovers
Of canals, of debris, starvation, survival, robbery, begging
They sing, they sing and become songs for writers to sing

Life, a shameless bond, married them to the street and its pity
Holiness became their sacred sin they never want to commit
They are the priest and judges of their respective Kingdoms
They are children of broken homes, the withered branches
Of decaying trees, children of insanity,
they are the smiles of misfortunes
The tears of concerned citizens, the negligence of technocrats
They are the ink flowing endlessly to write this poem of poverty
They are the children of the street, looking for a home in your heart

James Ademuyiwa