Coming Home
By Jean-Dominique Nguele
Who dares know what home is nor means?
When not venturing further than a can of beans
Travel can feed the mind as well as the palate
But also open eyes on the good in your plate
All the little things we disregard everyday
These we start missing when we go away
A sky as flabbergasting as flamingo wings
Cannot make you forget how Westminster sings
Walks by the beach, sand white as a cloud
Thinking of home and all its loud crowd
We are what we eat, we are who we meet
Galvanising all from head to my feet
It is nice for sure, travelling to the beat
Seeing that museum, tasting different meat
But eventually when all is said and done
I always return there no matter how long gone
Regardless of when no matter where
Everywhere I go this place waits there
Where I drop a little more than my backpack
Where I’m always happy to be welcomed back
People and things, all those left behind
And yet somehow never out of my mind
Once homebound all I wanted was leave
Yet the return ticket always in my sleeve
Glasgow, Gothenburg, Paris, Aruba
Flying here, taking a train to là-bas
Fourteen months up for work in Scotland
Finally returning to this found homeland
You may find funny I wrote in such shapes
Which I believe we used since we were apes
Oh beautiful London, how much I missed you
Finally, on this day, I am coming home to you
