Thick trees shaking
hands across red-stained
asphalt, tread by
cars. Yellowing green leaves
clothed in hot, harsh dust
of harmattan. Sweet, loamy perfume
linger after rain’s soothing kiss.
The waves of passing
villagers, mother’s gentle
smile. I always long for.
I see her smile, but
not without the
distractions of wrinkles
hanging down
her face,
her neck
and her chest.
Weary smiles,
tired breath
residual of timeless hustle.
Handshake across the
asphalt – now armies arrayed
in formation. Pale dusty
leaves – now banners fluttering
in the wind. Waves of kinsmen –
now locked eyes of adversaries
waiting in formation for
the last command. Dust-red asphalt –
now stripe galloped by commanders
charging their armies for battle.
Sweet home calling, true homecoming
Rome no longer my home
Echoes of home – memories
of the bonds that tie us.
Each day a dislocation,
a reminder of distance
craving home
fearing change
dreading unknown
a man must hurry.
—
Chinecherem Arum is a graduate of the Pontifical University Antonianum in Rome and a writer of short stories and poetry. He is currently a tutor at Old Dominion University, where he is pursuing studies in Creative Writing.
