I have a Home

I have a home, yes I do

I may be a guest in your land, but I have a home

It’s in a place so sublime, yet invaded by doom

A place surrounded by tall mountains and vast rivers

Yet all it’s ever known is disaster

Some call it the heart of Africa

Others the land of beauty

But I call it the land of rare precious stones

So precious that everyone wants a piece of it

They all sit at fine tables devouring pieces they snatched from my country

They take pleasure in hearing the agonizing cries of children

They cause unemployment to our fathers and exploit our mothers

They bathe in the blood of the billions of martyrs they put to sleep in cruelty

They provoke wars and incite starvation

Then, after causing the damages

They gather the audacity to come to our aid to mock our misery

They take everything and keep us in cycles of instability

It’s all we’ve ever known

It is the only story we pass down from generation to generation

Yet every year, for 60 years we dance to Table ronde, independence

While not one of us have ever tasted the mesmerizing satisfaction of Independence

It forever remains an illusion we’ve bought into

And although scattered around in the diaspora

Escaping chaos at the expense of being called refugees

Or as our South African friends love to call us during xenophobic attacks, Makwerekwere,

Our flames keep burning harder and our flags raised higher for our Home.

The great Congo

The land of rare precious stones

The heart of Africa

A country so richly blessed with fertile lands and extensive varieties of wildlife

Blessed with fascinating music, captivating foods and heart-warming people

Home is Home, they say

No matter where you go, you take a piece of it with you

Yes, I have a home

I am a child of the soil

A native citizen of the land

I may be a guest in your land, but I have a home