Home Tasted Like War

I went back home

which tasted like war

and smelled of shrimp.

Soldiers scattered around 

glowing funerals of captured civilians

lit the skies.

Home was where

tyrants defecate in the mouths of citizens

the bitter taste of corruption 

washed down with their urine. 

Home was where the soil is stark red 

as the nation bled into the earth, 

where instead of crops, 

skeletal remains protrude.

Home was where children make wishes

to shoot bullets not stars 

where vultures are more nourished

than civilians.

Home was where hope and faith dwindled

replaced by fear of being sold for minerals.

Home was reduced to rocks and gravel

where Mum was buried without a shovel.

Home was waking 

to gunshots instead of alarm clocks, 

where bullets fly rather than birds.

I went back home

Home…