This Place Called Home
by Peter E. Adotey Addo

Sometimes my memory corrodes my mind 
But there are parts I know it cannot change. 
Sometimes I may deny past the hour of dawn 
And like a migrating beast they fly away. 
Why is it so difficult to forget? 
Perhaps these are just partial images passing through. 
Where I once lived someone lives there now 
But I have to be strong to fight these images 
To keep fragments of my childhood place. 
So soon so little will be left 
And I shall be alone. 
But shall I ever find myself alone 
Wondering if it had ever been 
This place, this life 
The memory makes it difficult to forget. 
But like a pail of salt water left in the sun 
It evaporates and melts away 
Only to leave a white powder 
That tastes foul to the tongue. 
This place, this life, Kukuhill