The Roads That Lead Me Home
by Nyabuti Peter Semba

I have travelled many roads—

some smooth, some cruel,

some whispering promises they could not keep.

Each one taught me something:

about longing, about pride,

about how far a man can walk

before he starts missing himself.

There was a road bright with promise;

it smelled of hot dust and new shoes.

I chased my name across its horizon,

believing success would feel like sunlight.

But I learned there that dreams

can run faster than your strength,

and glory, when it comes alone,

echoes louder than applause.

Another road was paved with mistakes—

potholes shaped like choices I knew were wrong.

I tripped over my own shadows there,

and each fall whispered my full name.

Regret became my teacher,

patience my quiet friend at the bend.

I left some pride behind

and picked up forgiveness instead.

Then came the road of love—

soft at first, like rain on red earth.

I built castles in that soil

until the flood came and took them.

Still, I cupped some of that rain in my hands,

because love, even when it leaves,

waters something in the bones.

Some roads were dark.

Too quiet.

Faces I used to know

blurred into the mist.

I walked through loss like fog—

afraid to forget, afraid to remember.

And in that silence, I learned:

grief doesn’t end; it just changes shape—

sometimes into a song,

sometimes into prayer.

And yet, of all the roads I’ve known,

my heart keeps turning toward one:

the road that leads me home.

It doesn’t shine; it waits.

Its dust knows my name.

Its trees lean like old friends.

There, the air forgives me,

and the wind hums my childhood tune.

I’ve walked enough to know now—

every road, even the wrong one,

was just another way home.

Poet’s Note

This poem was born out of reflection—not on geography, but on the many journeys that shape a life. Each road here stands for a season: ambition, failure, love, loss, return. I’ve walked them all, often with hope, sometimes with exhaustion. What I discovered is that no road is wasted; each teaches, humbles, prepares.

The Roads That Lead Me Home carries the spirit of Frost’s The Road Not Taken, but its feet are dusty with lived experience. It speaks to anyone who has wandered far only to find that the truest destination is not a place, but a reconciliation—a quiet knowing that every path, even the painful ones, was pointing home all along.