I watch my mother cry for a cause I barely know.
Zimbabwe,her life, her love, her home.
An identity lost with politics and war.
A country I was born in, but hardly ever saw.
I'm British born and bred, that’s what everyone sees.
but that’s not really true, that’s not really me.
Who am I then?
And where do I belong?
Zimbabwe or England?
Which do I call home?
My mother’s heart lies in Zimbabwe, but she wears a British mask.
School runs, work and drinking tea, but I can see right past.
She waits for the elections, she weeps for her country.
She could go back home or she could remain in safety.
Zimbabwe, England, my mother and me.
Should we be who we are, or who we're supposed to be.
No comments:
Post a Comment