I have come too far
To this land.
A land rich of corn
To eat
Rich of wine
To drink.
A land where
I will do the chores
I would not have done
In my native town.
I guess I am doing these things
Because I want to return
With more goodies.
I have come too far
To this land,
A land across the ocean
Where I am lost of culture.
Here,
no one cares for one another
Especially a Nubian as I am.
Here,
I am either scorned
Or made the laughing stock.
I would not have taken all these humiliations
At a place I call home.
Home, is where folks
Would be there for me
Defend and fight for me.
I guess I am enduring all these
Because I would not want to return
Empty handed.
I have come too far
To this land.
Would I not be able to catch
What I am pursuing here,
Over there?
I could not cling unto that belief
I have come too far
To this land,
Too far to return with nothing.
3 comments:
Martin,
Thank you for the diasporic feel of your poem. Yes, as Africans in another country, we are in
"A land where
I will do the chores
I would not have done
In my native town."
Only God knows the hustle that people go through in order to keep up with expectations of those at home. We 'have come too far' to return empty-handed. Keep it up, nyebro.
You write well, Martin. I love the simplicity of your language. I notice that, this same simplicity re-enforces the weight of your message. You know, it's an issue we often say little about. I wish many people would read this poem and stop demanding so much from relatives who go abroad. We indeed have come too far, haven't we?
You write well, Martin. I love the simplicity of your language. I notice that, this same simplicity re-enforces the weight of your message. You know, it's an issue we often say little about. I wish many people would read this poem and stop demanding so much from relatives who go abroad. We indeed have come too far, haven't we?
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