Coming Home - Poem by Orlando Belo
For forty years I’ve lived in that house,
mum sold it soon after father died.
The owners changed it into a Chinese takeaway,
that grew bamboo shoots in the lean-to outside.
Since then I’ve moved about like a gypsy,
journeying from place to place.
Recently I returned to my old neighbourhood,
and I'm yet to see a familiar face.
Here I am standing outside the Chinese takeaway,
the place where I was born and bred.
When I left, it was my mum and dad’s café,
with an alley, back yard, and lean-to shed.
In 1944 they bought this bomb damaged house,
with its old bicycle repair shop.
They changed it into a ‘second-hand’ business,
selling clothes, boots, and all sorts of whatnots.
In 1949 it became an ice-cream parlour,
which evolved into a Transport Café.
For almost thirty years, that’s how it remained,
until 1978, the year dad passed away.
Comments about Coming Home by Orlando Belo
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You