Kaizer M. Nyatsumba

i long
to walk on that dusty road
which turns and meanders
indifferently
past igloo-like mudhouses
past old makeshift fruit markets
past brazen street vendors
and along a pitiable lonely school
homewards

i long
to walk proudly on such a road
stopping on the way
to greet a friend
or to chat with a stranger
or even to lend a hand
to an old man covered in dust
trying to find his way home
stopping on the way
to marvel at the beauty
of such a desolate place
or to drop a cent
in a beggar’s tin
or even to listen
to the cry of a hungry child

i am tired
of the entrapment of the city
whose glittering stands beckoning
to take me away
from the quiet and tranquillity of home
to this city
this washington that knows no night
the glare of lights
and the deafening noise overwhelm me
i want to go home

i long
for my home on freedom street
i long
for the peace and the quiet
of the night
i long for its frighteningly-murky nights
where i will sleep sound
fearing none of civilisation’s snares

i long
for such a place
where i grew up
a place where birds chirp
and doves coo on trees
under which children frolic
a place where man is still man
free from the fetters of civilisation –
that is my home