My country is the home
Of my fears.
Where I have expressed loud anger
And cried silent tears.
I wish that I could move
To a better place,
Where there would be less burdens,
And the tension would melt from my face.
When will the tomorrow promised
When I was a child
Materialize, or should we just be allowed
To run wild,
With frustration over our politics,
And it’s dirty tricks,
That builds promises with golden bricks,
But instead fulfills them with wooden sticks?
A home should be a refuge,
Where we hide from the sun,
But my home country feels restless,
Like our challenges have only just begun.
Ivie M. Eke 2018.