Where the grass blows
tendrils waving at the deep,
blue sky
and
where the warm breeze
laps at your face
like the moist tongue of a dog.

Where the cows roam
free and wild,
stamping their feet,
chewing on cud.

Where the roosters stand,
feathers ruffled
their proud, croaky voices lifting
higher
in the air.

Where the hearts of thousands
are pure and gentle,
full of good intentions,
offering water for
the parched tongue
and corn paste with
okra sauce
for the empty stomach.

Giggles and laughter
of children making houses
in the sand,
dirt smearing across
their chubby dark faces.

Where the deep, earthy scent
of fresh rain
radiates from the ground,
presenting your eyes
the beautiful sight
of sparkling leaves and
wet sand slithering
between the cracks of your
fingers.

Red, orange, and purple hues
stretch across the afternoon sky,
spreading from one end of the world
to the other.

Burkina Faso,
where the dry grass blows
free.

Where my heart will always be.