Home
Was home a flat of four walls
Where a perfect father was an imperfect partner?
Where a sensitive mother was an insensitive critic?
Where the brilliant siblings struggled to pick themselves up?
Where a warm parent was a cold grandparent?
Where fight, anxiety, and trauma often sidetracked love and warmth?
Or was home
The rustling of leaves, chirping of birds, the cold breeze?
That stranger down the lane who never failed to smile?
The aunt who spoke one language, the language of love?
The moonlight on a full moon day?
Those friends who gave warmth and always stood by?
A hot cup of coffee, a favorite book, or a show on a rainy day?
That unexpected long hug from the one the heart loved with all sincerity?
And it finally dawned
Home was nothing about blood or family
Home was where every moment was spent happily.
Home was not a building or a mansion
Home was a special emotion
That is experienced form somewhere we belong
And something which many people still long.
Home is where the heart finally lies,
Forging all relations, bonds, and ties.
