those that came before planted their roots deep,
irremovable from culture.
their musks remain imbued in city streets and rocking chairs.
hymns inlaid in the fabric of string vests and woolly hats
protected us from the wiles of prepubescence ,
all while we clung to them.
homes where sarcoghagi lie
are filled with family portraits,
governed by a soundscape of records on wax.
our many faces immortalised in
forgotten youth and wisps of
fearless, dreamlike thought.
we remember the times we went to war for brothers and cousins,
ending up with our skins surrendered to belts, slippers and tongue lashings
to then return as a hero to the frontline.
enamoured with the songs of our tribes
we latch onto each other like babies to teats
reminiscing on the ignorance of life’s hardships.