My home by Garikai Nhongo

I dream of the land of my father,
The birthplace of my mother.
I miss the joy of my brother,
And the laughter of my sister.
I reminisce on the tales of my grandmother,
And the lessons of my grandfather.
Amidst millions I still feel alone,
I miss my home.

I miss the bustling streets of Harare,
And the tree capped hills in Mutare,
I miss the melting pot you only find in Mbare,
And the distinct lion roar within Hwange,
I revere the Kings of Bulawayo,
And the ancient City of Masvingo,
I dream of the smoking thunder at Victoria Falls,
And even the trickling waters of Nyangombe Falls.

I hear the birds in Kuimba Shiri sing to one another,
Only to be relaced by the whispers in the mounts of Nyanga,
I hear the calls of Ewanrigg and Bvumba,
Of Gweru, Bikita, Gwanda and Kariba,
Of Mvuma, Mvurwi and Uzumba-Maramba-Pfungwe,
Of Kezi, Plumtree and Bulilimamangwe,
Amidst millions I still feel alone,
That is because I miss my home.