They say the value of a tree lies in its roots
a bad tree,is what I am
Soo shallow my roots run
That onlookers battle disgust and some sympathy for my handicap
Never has my feet greeted the soil of my homeland
And its waters regard me a stranger
My tongue too stiff to take the bends of my mother tongue
A smile that screens embarrassment and a lousy joke in english is all the response I can manage
My late dad was always a fair direction to pass the blame
The dead feel no guilt…
Other times a dismissive denial of the need for roots always surfaced
The urban nationalist..
Finding solace in the confines of my mother’s home place
They console me with Nwadiala
A title that says I’m accepted
A son of the soil..
For a minute I actually feel at home
A sense of belonging casts its radiant light just before setting into the darkness of reality
But truth be told
My land and waters lay far from here
Among creeks and the traffic of fishing boats
She named me,that I may never forget her
The open waters of the world be beautiful in its dreamy blue
But her mucky brown waters bring recognition of something old,familiar and wise


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