AC (02/08 / Orlu)

Nostalgia

At a point not known
The beginning I may never know
Alienated to the ‘alien soil’
From my home, the reality that be

From the real to phantom, the shadow
What a descent decline!
But then, like many’s hope
Could it happen for me, a transition?

A prey I’ve become
In the land of my exile
Apparently devoid of peace
Like Israel in Babylon

Yes! No peace away from home
For should peace dwell elsewhere
I would’ve forgot my Home

On me they prey, sons of the soil
In the name of love, charity
Which alone begins at Home



Away-from-home is all-wretchedness
This they call riches
Their treasury of imperishability
With them shall die

In a matter of choice, must be:
A stand not taken,
The one not chosen

Yet with struggle ever unending
To feel belonged or to assert
To take a stand or to sit on the fence
Is none other’s but mine to decide

In the day, struggles and slavery
At night, tears and sighs
Yet ‘Joy! ’ they cry
Which has one source, Home

Weary are my feet on the alien soil
Nostalgia for Home, sweet Home
A cry of liberation from dreamland
And like a dove, shall I fly
To my Home, so long, I missed.

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Comments (1)

A witty reflection on the essence of home, sweet home. Beautiful poem well articulated and nicely penned with conviction. Thanks for sharing Austyn.