On nights like this, when rain comes in torrents

Home becomes a paradise. Mother says

“son, stretch your mouth into a soft litany

For boys like you whose bodies must be drenched tonight.”


Sometimes home is a broken mirror

Tapped back together. But it helps to see

The world in different versions and sometimes

There is a blank space,

Home then becomes a feeling.


When I say home is home

I mean, it is a recreative cubbyhole

For my gambol; the rats in the store

Recognize me; the fading photos on the wall

Always smile at me

And God also peeps via holes in the roof

When sun shines.


When I say home is home

What I mean is: my body belongs to this place;

My cries and laughter follow me to bed at night;

My mother still lulls me to sleep with “home

Is home, be it a crib or a mansion.”

And my father’s dry jokes

Still wet our faces with laughter.



Abiodun Usman is a writer who writes from the western part of Nigeria. He is also a freelancer. His works explore domestic violence, corruption, depression and love. His works have appeared on literary blogs online. He is currently studying Theatre Arts at the Premiere University, Ibadan.