Homebound

By Binta Yade

i left my rose-tinted glasses in the uber on the way to the airport

my luggage was too full to fit my great expectations

and my carry-on too heavy for my romanticisations

still

when my head left the clouds

and my feet hit the ground

i felt  

love

that love at third sight

slow burning

slowly learning

love

there’s really no way to explain

the feeling of feeling at home

in a home you've never known

it’s something genetic

like a map back to this place

was etched into my bone

my cells carry me to the streets

where my past generations have grown

Rue 39 x 42, Colobane, Dakar, Senegal

i'm good here

my skin glows when i step outside

my belly stays full and my heart is bursting at the seams

even the annoyances come coated in sugar

life here isn’t perfect but it sure tastes sweet

and i can’t help but wonder why we were ever made to think

that this wasn’t where we were meant to be

like this wasn’t where we would thrive

that this is where we would be fighting to survive

as if we're not just barely alive

in our second gen hometowns

flashy neo-imperialist compounds

funding great genocides with our “great” british pounds

our parents were led to believe

that the grass was greener

only to find the grass had been covered in concrete

that the rivers had turned brown

and the sun refused to shine down

they were tricked into boarding a sinking ship

expecting to be led to streets of gold

only to find they were covered in piss

it’s time for the diaspora to go home.

home where my feet plant roots with every step i take

but never deep enough to keep me

for heaven’s sake

my spirit is grounded here

but my body is bound to a greyer land

that meets me with an outstretched hand

A beggar

A barren land

the irony of an empire where the sun never slept

being forgotten by the sun is not lost on me

but still

my body is bound to this grey land

because my pocket is weighed down by its grey hand

so i float

head above water

with every stroke i get the closer to the border

between peace and dunya

and if i’m being honest,

my attachment to the latter is too strong

to go back to where i belong

so i breathe

with every exhale i remind myself

that this is not a spring but a marathon

that my body & spirit will soon become one

& with my final breath

I appease my soul

with two words of comfort

bun             

babylon

By Binta Yade