My Fatherland

When I die let me buried Only in that land I love Amid the wide spread plain Where termites live and own Though with the blood of foes Lying in that grave I’m home Many would laugh at my plea And wonder why I would seek And long for all that seem lost But while I fly to the sky Below would I see my fatherland Oh why shouldn’t I be buried In that swamps where I grew up Among children with no pants Or even shoes to call their own Where we slept on hard floors Or tattered mats we call bed Now I’m all grown and far off I still want a feel of that all To breathe in the dry air Of a dusty harmattan wind that sweeps around our huts.