My Old home
My old home was a place of beauty, a place where they sat around the campfire by the old tree and mastered the art of spoken word. Men so eloquently, flawlessly & oh so seductively moved the masses with their words. The women, by god the women, were true lionesses with grace that put the gazelles to shame. The beat of their drum had their men move the pyramids.
My old home was a place of strength, the fathers were hunters & camel herders and their children were the apprentices. The mothers built and managed their homes with the grounding of mountains, the immense power of the oceans with the warmth of the gentle evening breeze. They were Mother Earth in human form.
My old home was a place of immense riches. We traded in textiles, livestock, frankincense & myrrh, mother of pearl. The world was our oyster.
My old home was a place the nomads called home. It was the place where they followed the elements, they were one with nature.
My old home was a place i longed to go to for a long time.
True to my ancestors i followed the winds back to its golden sands, the mesmerising & never ending coastline.
My old home is no longer where the noble nomad souls dwell anymore. The captivating and ever seductive smells of frankincense & myrrh have been replaced by diesel fumes & burning coal. My old home has been burned down, stripped, spat on, silenced & crippled.
My old home is a graveyard, a place where even the dead aren't left alone to rest in peace.
The big old tree that was once the gathering grounds for friends has turned to ashes. Instead of hearing sweet compilations of the poems i hear the echoes of a mothers tears, a daughters faint whisper & see a fathers ghost floating helplessly causing havoc. The son is all thats left, he's a vampire. The vampire that slit his fathers throat for a fix, stole the clothes off his sisters back to clean up the mess he made blaming her for his crimes, fore her cloth carries their family blood.
His children don't know that once upon a time their people were great warriors & lovers. All they know is when the sun sets they must feed.
My old home was a place of beauty.