The Walking Dead Poem by Okello Baloyi

We walk on soil that remembers our names,
Yet our tongues trip over foreign vowels,
Chasing shadows of a life sold to us in glossy ink.
We have traded the warmth of the communal hearth
For the cold glow of a screen that does not know our ancestors.
In this market of stolen spirits,
We wear suits tailored by hands that never touched our dust,
And pray to gods who do not speak our mother's language.
We are tall trees with shallow roots,
Leaning against a wind that is not our own.
How long can we live on credit?
Drinking from wells we did not dig,
Dreaming dreams we had to borrow from the conqueror's sleep.
The sun rises, but the light is rented
Until we wake, and find our pockets full of ash
And our hearts hungry for the home we forgot to keep.