Poetry: Home Is Not A Place

I’m telling you this is not it,
the walls are smooth and slippery
It brings sleep right on time.
The scent of food is heavenly
it makes full, satisfying with a rhyme
Growing here is so nostalgic
it brings music of fun so quick.
How we grew from seeds to tree
written in every form of poetry.
Look at yesterday, just yesterday
traveling into the dust-into away.
forgetting I made-built the pain
and didn’t make here look insane,
it’s soon going to be forgotten
It’s soon going to be dust
the stories and folklore written
you may cry if you must.
For I was once a soul
I didn’t live alone in the hole.
I had family like you up there-
a loved one I called my dear.
Think about this, think about extinction
Isn’t there no way it can be shunned?
Please I beg you, I beg your humanity
Don’t take this antibiotic, don’t end my family.



Home is where my heart beats
Home is my heartbeat

Yes my heart beats faster than the storm
I found myself an awkward norm

An awkward norm to wear a robe of freedom
It found wanting since I was just in a kingdom

A kingdom with rules and less value
I bought myself a pen so I write my ills

My ills became a depression
I sat idle doing something

Doing something was never a thing
Rather it killed my skills and abilities

When abilities found an empty space
They lie dormant, since there is no war for subsequent space

Home is not a place to achieve your dreams
Leave your comfort zone to live in streams

Experience the desert life
Bid convenience a little bye

Home is not a place to fulfill dreams
Home is not a place to rub your creative cream

Rachel Charles


I remember a structured spirit
Welling of affection and character
It was a treasure chest for the brightest eyes and caring hearts
It dripped of a blooming aura
I carved my secret place there
I often ran to myself there
Yet it had its demons,
They held tortured memories
With nightmares at dawn
And i thought nights would have been days, because it was soothing to be, In the presence of my origins
Their knowledge void of what our haven was secretly turning into,
I vouched in its physical matter
Refusing to let go of all it was
Till the revelations hit me
Visions of home as hearts
Home was my very own presence…

Omolola Onigbinde


Her streets are lighted by glowing hearts
Watering her fields with blood
Her sun rises on laughter and smiles

Her walls are built tall with bones
Plastered with a pile of flesh
Then tiled with a thin sheet of skin

She makes her water falls
She drowns her own cares
And lights up her own sky

Her soiled floors are mopped with tears
Her fractures are bound with hugs
And her wounds are bandaged with compassion
Her nights are mooned with love
And stared with eyes sparkling with affection

She wheels her house where goes
She migrates without moving
Grazing where there is no pasture
She is tangible and intangible.

She gives breath to a house
And still lives without a host

Home is a web that collects hearts.


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