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What do you know about bullet-riddled night skies,

About lineages wiped out, children slain in their sleep?

About fear wrapping cold hands around your neck,

Wringing, throttling, choking out your last breath.

Is your home a rodent-infested sewer of corruption and rot?

Do thoughts of home feel like a sharp sword slicing through your gut?

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In my home, Potholes are man-eating sinkholes where dreams go to die

It is where locomotive trains grind to a halt in the middle of a kidnappers den

Every time a truck draws by, I draw my breath because home is a land

Where rusty metallic giants tip over and crush your dreams.

It is where a starving, angry jungle mob cries out for justice,

Watching as flaming necklaces consume innocent beings .

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You see, home is not where my heart is because

It is where police stations close at dusk for security reasons.

Where rogues in black and blue batter you till you’re black and blue.

Home is where tyrants, brutes and enemies of truth reign over you,

Where your cries for justice cause bullets to rain over you.

It is where gate fee extortions have finally taken their toll on you.

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At home, sleep does not come when I close my eyes.

How could my mother secure sacred cows in exchange for my life?

My mother feeds me dancing pythons when I ask for fish.

You see, my mother is a coiled snake ready to strike at my heels.

It is not a question of if, but of when my mother will snuff out my light

Who can blame my siblings when they pack up and take flight?

Perhaps the best way to love my mother is to love her from afar.

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