This place reminds me of home,

Where dreams were made and futures promised,

We heartily told our dreams, of what we wanted to become,

Of doctors, pilots and teachers, that never were honored.


This place reminds me of home,

A place in the hills from where we have come,

With torn shoes and rags for clothes,

As we herded our cattle in droves.


This place reminds me of home,

When we smeared our dirty faces with foam,

And shouted happily that we had become white,

Back then, everything seemed so right.


This place brings back all those memories,

From way back in the centuries,

When the slightest of things cultivated our happiness,

And the glaring cameras of today were not there to witness.


How I miss those days when we made wishes,

To the passing comets in the night skies,

As we played in the dark and urinated in the nearby bushes,

And stories were told, even when some were mere lies.


Gone are those good old days,

But this place I stand today reminds me of home,

I wish I could turn back the hand of time,

I wish I could go back and stay,


For the future is haunted,

Its promises daunted,

The present is filled with solitude,

But I have to endure with great fortitude,

And I must learn to accept it with gratitude.


©Cecy Gaitho 2019


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