longing
for the sweet smell of home.
the smell of history,
whispered through the air.
that familiar smell,
of power
rising,
…….from the very earth.
home, where i bathed in starlight,
letting rivulets of wisdom
roll down my soul:
tears of the ancestors
who mourn what was yet to be.
tears of the ancestors
who mourn what would never be.
so i sing,
that they know,
what has come to be,
i sing
that they know our new story.
and i sing,
that they dry their tears.
and i sing
that they might welcome me home.
theDeprevation 