Soja

The Cobwebs have grown wings
The grasses are taller than the house
Children, like Godot, await your hands
full of candies. The grandma down
the road tells death to come for her
after your arrival. Remember your fiancée?
She’s still holding balloons and a bouquet
at the airport. Soja

we want to hear your tales of victory
dropping from your mouth like rain
How fresh the apple at the war front?
Do you, like Bluntschli, ferry chocolate
to the battlefield? The wrinkles around
your mother’s eyes must not finish their
meeting before your feet embrace
the soil of this country. Your father
is dead, his grave needs some wreaths

O, Soja, do not die in their battle
Home, like a nightingale, eulogizes
your lineage, do you hear it?
The stool in the backyard is waiting
for your buttocks. The sun here longs
for your melanin, do you feel it?
After the toil maps your soles and
your fingers blister, we’ll invite
the camwood to welcome you