identity
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

Chukwu, Emmanuel Chibuzo: The Meaning of Home and Identity

May we for a moment reflect on the meaning of home and identity

receding memories & abolished cultures/ what other analysis speaks for a lost
identity?/ We stand before our fathers carrying pints of civilization into us/ our bodies
too white that it contrasts the black in theirs/ Each word we speak divides God in us/ &
also divides all the concepts / mother laid inside of us./what manner of thing haunts a
body & still questions it?/ somewhere in my books/ I read of people wandering their
bodies too close to the sun/ every word falling from a mouth/ ends a family name in
absentia/ & this is where modernization and traditionalism combat/ to become like our
neighbours/ we cave off the roof of our skin/ wearing a facade/ everything we desire that
does not speak of home/ is never permanent/ a boy snatches the red from the
rainbow/& calls it freedom/ I mean/ what manner of child ends the blood flowing
in his veins with his own hands/ & again, this is what we get when identity becomes
a falsism/ what does a child do when he does not understand himself?/ end the hate
in his skin/ or still figure an alternative means to live/ what more is acceptance/
if not to hold home in conservations?/ & yet, no one truly understands this feeling/
the heaviness of home in a mouth/ & the love of loving what you do not want/
every day we scream modernization/ into music, into food, into various lifestyles/
& somewhere, our fathers memorize our alienation/ & still conclude us prodigal/
nothing more meets the eye/ if not juxtaposition of sorts/ I mean/ for a moment reflect
on the meaning of home & identity/& reflect on the last thread of humanity thinning out/
What thing can you say of dying?/ the woman you know cakes her face to become light/
& the grievous thing is/ we cannot escape what owns us/ Last night, a boy sought his
name in the moon/ & dead birds came alive again/ home is never foreign unless you
make it foreign/ & again, what more is immunity if not resistance?/ to all strange things
crawling into a body/ last night, I wore the shroud of the night/ & looked into water/ the
years of questioning/ is never enough to stop mother from applying black soap to my
bald scalp/ I look into the mirror after wash/ to see a black boy scrubbed clean
of foreignness/
——————
Poem © Chukwu, Emmanuel Chibuzo
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

Written by
Chukwu Emmanuel Chibuzo

Chukwu Emmanuel C. studies Medicine and Surgery in the University of Calabar. A Nigerian by birth, and an award-winning writer and poet whose works have been published in Praxis Magazine, Libretto Magazine and Tuck, and forth coming in other magazines. When he is not writing, he is trying to explore nature to relate it to his profession.

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Written by Chukwu Emmanuel Chibuzo

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