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EXPATRIATE… (Apropos Soon Come) Heard the chichi budo singing in the banana walk; heard the burro braying; and the mongoose roaming the coop; smelled the aroma of roast breadfruit, ackee and salt fish; and felt the icy cold air tease the warmness of my body. Then came the off-beat pitter patter of raindrops falling on the roof top, drowning away the dream: washing me back to the shore of this distant reality. Self imposed exile rivals only that of being a refugee; the thought eased by employment of the more dignified term---expatriate. Mocking Odysseus, we wander the haphazard journey; sadly seeking stolen ways back to the womb of our beginnings. Digging deep down into the sacred screaming soul of myself, I pray and implore almighty Jah--- mek mi not become a of Sisyphus: Jesus, mi’a crave ‘ome.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2015

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