Missing My Home Poem by Buyunde Acura Sylivester

Missing My Home



Look at the coloured clouds,
Following the steps of the fading sun,
Its chilly this evening,
With a slow blow of a wind,
Wafting my officially tacked shirt.

Again see the harried crowds,
Taking home what they've earn,
Since this day morning,
With or without, don't mind,
What rests in their small hut.

Take a glance at the birds,
Singing in a melody as one,
Flying as men are running,
Wishing the day could rewind,
To come again to the start.

Cattle fetched in herds,
With round belies they run,
Armed with cud from grazing,
With prepared molars to grind,
The food far from reach of rat.

Playfully singing children raise me moods,
Some singing what they'd learn,
Jumping and shouting,
On giant dunes behind,
Setting free each beat of a heart.

I miss my daughter's words,
Her argument with my son,
I miss too my wife, darling,
A family that God bind,
And I know while away they're hurt.

Am a man of different worlds,
In total melancholy of what I earn,
I miss my home when leaving,
For this serious kind,
Of attendance to a diplomat,

About to rest my head on woods,
Where I do sleep alone,
Till that day of earning,
When worm alien wind'll blind,
Me from seeing lonely desert!

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