I Miss Home Poem by Alade Abayomi Idris

I miss home the way a child misses his late parents
I miss the land where my innocent feet roamed unsettling dust
I miss the place where all around me were brothers and sisters
Where the water that bathed me, bathed them
Where I could tell everybody's history just as they could tell mine.

I miss the place where I could enter another man's house to eat
Without first considering how much I have in my pocket
Where I would speak my mind so loud for the fierce wind to carry on its back
And still sleep in a doorless room with my two eyes closed with the glue of tiredness.

I miss my home
I miss the place where things are done the old ways
Food spiced with iru and served with native leaves
And accompanied by the freshest milk
Agoro fetched from the nipples of the breastfeeding palm trees
From the forest of a thousand mysteries.

I miss our lifestyle that is painted in a way that made children run for fear
By teachers of everything that the whiteman brought
Big ups to those who still play bata drums instead of drum sets
Play flutes instead of the keyboards
Go to egungun festivals instead of the cinemas.