Pap caterer will always
Imagine the whitish porridge
On sighting the green leaves
A poacher longs for prey
On seeing his weapons
As thunderstorm echos
The husbandman remembers
The fallow soil.
Hunger catalyses the desire
Of the scavenger for birthplace.
Slaves have homes
The distance is far.
I want to see my root again
Where serenity reigns,
Where brotherhood prevails
Where nature smiles perpetually,
Where fresh waters never ceased.
I long to eat from mama's pot
I long to dine under the roof
Where unity prevails.
I want to go back
To the land of peace
Where bias is anathema.
I want to share
The moonlight tales, again.
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