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The Foreigner


Charles Okafor

Dedicated to my brother who lives in Germany

These long years,
You sit lonely in foreign buildings,
On foreign land far from your father's hut
Thoughts of your mother's dishes, and
The distant chat of your brothers and sisters
Bring tears to your winter-riddled brow,
And from out of your German window
Comes the 'not so familiar tongue'
Of leather robed euro-coves
And even beyond, fallen right there
Upon your eyes the carriage of several white-belles
And kid folks of race of other colours other than black
But in your heart of hearts across the skies
The colourful rainbow viewing with the green,
And the fervorous flight of the brood,
Enlaced with sunset,
And in the depths of your blackness,
The blackness of our blood,
The flickering fire of hope burning bright.

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