Is it the place where I was born? The place where I wish to rest?
A space beside loved ones forever? A stepping stone, a nest?
Is it the smell of clean bedsheets, a table of carefully orchestrated mess?
A sunlit corner, whistling cooker on a burner? A city, a street, an address?
Is it the paint, the wood, the tiles and the bricks?
The soil under my feet, the stones and the sticks?
Is it a person, people, occupying shared space?
A kiss to the temple, a fierce embrace?
Is it a lover, a mother,
A teacher, a brother?
A childhood pet? Peas-in-a-pod, best friends?
Strangers who meet on unexpected paths, never to cross each other again?
Is it a feeling, the feeling of being understood?
Shared silence, a knowing smile, hands in salute?
Is it the colours of a flag, blowing in the breeze?
Is it the tears pried from the eyes by a melody?
Is it the rhythm of Nature — tall summits, open seas?
In the birds, the spiders, the plants and the trees?
What is home? Where is home? Why does it call to me?
At a cross-roads in life, a time of much change, maybe familiarity
Is a comfort I crave, I cling to, I so desperately seek
Wherever I’ve come from, wherever I’m going, whatever lies in store for me
I hope that home can and always will be
What keeps me rooted, what sets me free.
(Big hugs to Sahi, and Tejshree aunty, for the most valuable tinkering.)
