Homeland Pride

Often as I travel through the country side

Of the land where I was born and raised,

In the distant world of the remote third,

I feel a sense of the utmost pride.

What are you proud of my friend?

Asks my rational mind.

Certainly not the dust filled roads

Or the roadside toilets I reckon,

Couldn't be the hungry poor

Or the stone age ways of the folks at large,

Couldn't be the crooked ways 

Of the men and women in power,

Or the corrupt ways of the officials in charge.

It's the music in the air

Only the inward ear can hear

It's the sights on the landscape

Only the inward eye can see

It's the fragrance in the air

Only the inward nose can smell

It's all that only the inward touch can touch.

It's the food and drink you still relish

It's the memories you fondly cherish

It's the warmth of the folks that care

It's the culture that can't be quantified

It’s the religion in which you grew up

It's the peace and solace

That can't be measured.

That's the nature

Of the human spirit, my friend

My heart replies in right earnest.