Home by Bokani Mbulai


All I see are dusty clouds and hazy blurs of what was what we called home.

It was beautiful, wonderful, and magnificent- only these handful of words can describe our home but cannot describe it to the fullest. I look beside me and I see him; my brother, sitting there, crying, mourning what we called home.

Home is not just a place but a feeling. A feeling that is indescribable that words can try to contain, but just like birds in a cage, these words need to be set free and therefore are portrayed with images.

These images cannot be painted, drawn or sculpted. Man and man-made objects cannot compare to this beauty but rather destroy and take the image and distort it.

Home is a feeling of warmth, like the sun radiating its rays on a summer’s day on your skin, it’s a feeling of comfort that no bed can provide, it’s a feeling of serenity- no car can take you to, but just as home is not an object it can be taken away.

Home was stripped out of my arms and still is lost, I continue to search for it but it cannot be found.

I hope one day I find you, and love and treasure you more than I did before. I took you for granted and now you are gone. I hope one day I find my way back to you and my brother and I can once laugh again and share joy as we once did, but for now you are gone and all we can do is wish.

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