HOW THE POEM CAME UP

Having been opportuned to go around the city of Lagos, have come across several homes and structures one you will love to have had yours and some you desire doesn't exist not because it doesn't serve the purpose of a house or a home but because it doesn't befits a human. Flesh and blood like me
I sympathized with those living in huts made of thin sticks and palm front who lives at the mercy of the wind and rain. And like I always do, I placed myself in their shows seeing from the lenses of their heart and their perspective about love within the home and its environs.
I came up with this piece

HOMES

Indeed, there are homes.

And there are homes

That swallow homes.

---

Our own home

Is the pauper's share

Where tiny thin timbers

Act as poles

That hold the house firm.

---

The earth is our bed

Where we rest our backs

After every day's activities

Every morning,

We take our baths

By the open verandah

Before the day rises

From its heavy slumber.

---

Our wastages are kept

Until late in the night

Before we devour them

Into the river's stenched stomach

At noon, you'll see the sun's shadow

Smiling precariously

With its toothless tooth

Upon our concrete floors.

---

When night calls,

We move wooden materials

To barricade our abode

Against external oppression.

---

During rainy seasons,

We take turn sleeping

As water takes over

A large portion of our bed*

---

When it is harmattan,

We barely open the window

Which silhouette our abode

From the natural fluorescent

Oned by the day's mien.

---

Truly, our own abode

Differs from other heavenly abodes.

And we very well know

That there are homes

Where a thousand home

Surely can be removed

@udezee
#FutureGenesis
photocredit [1]-[2]

QUOTE OF THE DAY

I see a hero
@greenrun
@oogowinner

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