My Home by Deborah Hall

In the glare of the African sun

we plan as the sparrows swoop by –

the fynbos screams at its sad situation

and the bulldozing makes me cry

 

The treeless steep stage for the future plays

of bricks and cement and glass

I imagine the boulder’s eyeless gaze

as it thinks of the impermanence, and laughs

 

After Africa freed my longing, I thought

that sad, missing song on my tongue

would cease to be, but it did not

the wanderlust in me still stays strong

 

This beautiful place, this diverse land

I felt, had called me home –

she seduced me and whispered, come take my hand

in mankind’s birthplace you can roam

 

And she gives thanks, in her complexion and stain,

bright blankets of flowers and sparkling seas –

her wildlife, her people, the harsh winter rain

from parched inland desert to cool ocean breeze

 

The wrinkled old man who begs by the store –

the sadness, the poverty, the crime

are all part of the Africa that I adore

I’m sure I’ll call her home… in time

 

Yes, here in Africa I will stay

who knew in my roaming how far I would roam –

but my friends and my family, they’re so far away

my home, my home, where is my home?