BACK HOME by Hasheem Deza from Malawi

Four corners under one grass-thatched roof
a back yard, puppy’s warm heart
a torn veranda floor bricked in clay
and a sandy tattering wall but still
I lie in, mourn the day in sleep

a semi-solid husks flour Msima
with boiled rough pumpkin leaves
and bony fish kept yesterday
on a self-molded mat,
I bribe the ugly pianist in my stomach

born underweight, grew stunted
on some shores of nobody’s land
loaned high by self made low credits
those rains of no-cease promise
hopes of sailing to the shore

snails have offered me tales
walk the mile in rusty ages
stumpy and plastic walkways
sail on the Egyptian pharaoh’s drown
then feast to the victor of your own