Indiani Adom

What is it about the soil of one’s homeland?
A mere combination of atoms, matter, stuff… does it matter?
Yet somehow pigmented by the earthenware of our souls, the scent of our people.
Removing western boots, and feeling the grit of the earth of home between my naked toes.
The nostalgia of the past buried deep within it, deep within us.
We metamorphosize, we transform, as though the new world consumes us.
But that grit, the smell of that soil, the soul in that sand:
Unchanging is the core.