PIECES

I miss that place

It echoes of peace

And still, of pieces of discarded fruit

Shards of a nation waiting to be rebuilt

Cards of a badly played game

I miss that place

Loud noises of children playing not somewhere afar

The tolling bell of the ice-cream man

Voices of neighbours speaking across window panes

I miss that place

Dusty roads that swirl with balls of dust

Musty emergency-taxis hooting and shrieking past

I miss that place

 My mother sitting at her favourite sofa

The smell of isitshwala as it fills up my nose

Umbhida, ­amasese, thirst down my throat

I miss that place

I miss that place