My Fatherland

My Fatherland

When I die let me be buried
Only in that land I love
Amid the wide spread plain
Where termites live and own
Though with the blood of foes
Lying in that grave I’m home
Many would laugh at my plea
And wonder why I would seek
And long for all that seem lost
But while I fly to the sky
Below would I see my fatherland

Oh why shouldn’t I be buried
In that swamps where I grew up
Among children with no pants
Or even shoes to call their own
Where we slept on hard floors
Or tattered mats we call bed
Now I’m all grown and far off
I still want a feel of that all
To breathe in the dry air
Of a dusty Harmattan wind
that sweeps around our huts.



3 thoughts on “My Fatherland” by Dekky (@Dekky)

  1. very very nice.
    i appreciate the longing for home and the acknowledgment that home is always home.

  2. Where you spend our childhood always have a special place in you, slum or palace. Good poem.

  3. I guess this is why the elderly insist on being buried at home. It holds a lot of dear memories for them. Well written.

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