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The News from Home I have not come this far only to sit by the roadside and break into tears I could have wept at home without a journey of several thorns I have not spread my wings so wide only to be huddled into corners at the mere mention of storms To those who hear of military coups and rumours of civil strife and bushfires and bad harvests at home and come to me looking for fears and tears I must say I am tired very tired tired of all devotion to death and dying. I too have heard of all the bushfires the sudden deaths and fierce speeches I have heard of all the empty market stalls the cooking pots all filled with memory and ash And I am tired tired of all these noises of condolence from those who love to look upon the anger of the hungry nod their heard and stroll back home worrying and forever worrying about overweight and special diet for dogs and cats. Like an orphan stranded on dunghills of owners of earth I shall keep my sorrows to myself folding them with infinite care corner upon corner taking pains the foldings draw circles around hidden spaces where still our hopes grow roots even in this hour of finite chaos Those who sent their funeral clothes to the washerman awaiting the mortuary men to come bearing our corpse in large display Let them wait for the next and next season only to see how well earthchildren grow fruit and even flower from rottenness of early morning dreams Meanwhile I am tired tired of all crocodile condolence. — Kofi Anyidoho
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