Father, I'm Coming Home

Father, I'm coming home

Just as I always do every December

To gaze at the stars in the open skies

And watch the cows mooing to the river

Watch a pot of maize boiling on Mamas fireplace

And watch the kids jumping in the rain

I'm coming home once again Papa,

But don't expect me to bring you anything

Save for the heavy shopping I will be dragging along

Don't expect a tall, dark and handsome gift

Dressed in a tuxedo and polished shoes

Pocketing a heavy wallet and a perfect smile

The men of my city have shown me dust

They come loaded with disarming smiles

Their mouths ooze unending affection

But it all ends after the first night

Like a rubberstamp they dare not repeat

They leave faster than they had arrived

I won't expect you to stare at my stomach

Even if you do, you will still find it flat

Flatter than the flat screen I bought you last year

Nowhere near growing into a big bump

Don't expect me to puke in the morning

Don't expect any grandchildren soon

Tell Mama not to panic

At thirty five I still have a lot of potential

To be the best in my field of expertise

A woman is no longer measured by her ability to give birth

A woman is no longer measured by her marital status

And Papa I assure you that marriage is not a career

Father, I'm coming home

To feel the warmth of ancestral home

To remind myself of my childhood days

To unwind from the hustle and bustle of the big city

I'm not coming to be judged by the old traditions

So welcome me home, and give me a shoulder to lean on.