RHYTHMS OF HOME

I feel it
That yearning that won’t fit
That unsettling that won’t sit
That dream that won’t quit
Dissatisfactions that always hit
All those feelings threatening to wrestle me into doom’s pit

II
But when I, like a snail, the boarders cross
I feel like I’m carrying a loneliness cross
Wearing heaviness and a sense of loss
Thoughts of a chick straying from its hen me do toss
Stomach beings raising demonstrations oh so gross
So what is my mind’s missing boss?

III
It could be the songs in which I belong
It could be the culture in which I am strong
It could be the company where I feel among
It could be the fuss of the spiritual ding dong
It could be the love rhythms of the gong
It could be the battles we fight for long
It could be the lapses and all the wrong
Oh it could be the passions of our talking ding dong

IV
It could be the mother in all she older
It could be the father in all he older
It could be the uncles in all blossomed men
It could be the sisterhood in all the gals
It could be the brotherhood in all the pals
It could be the dust in all our past
It could be the rust in all our must
It could be the burst in all our hurts
It could be just the sounds of nature’s beaked jets

V
So I am glued
Glued and might be fooled
But stuck here in spirit
Stuck here where I fit
Up there in head room
Even when the body, like a vehicle, drives out
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © April 5, 2019

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