Where is home?
There where the mind is at peace
or the heart beats at ease?
Where you dream freely and fearlessly
or enact them out with painless compassion?
Where you are questioned
or allowed to questioned all that is around?
Where the wind blows like a fierce storm
or breezes past with pleasant memories?
Where the rain pelts like stone
or dances to celebrate you?
Where the trees haunt and scare
or smile and embrace in their shade?
Where one's echo seems like another's
or answers one's deepest queries?
Where the sea rises to destroy
or tickles ones' feet and washes away all sorrows and disappointments?
Where the sun blazes overhead
or soothes one with eternal warmth?
In search of such a home we wander.
Aimless
Hopeful
Little realising that it might be where one is and not where one fantasises one to be.
The process of making the existing place home, is called life.
7 comments:
yesterday night i came back home to find that my home is not at home....
well thats a feeling we all go through at some point or the other. like i said home is where we are. it needn't be our permanent residence. it can be anywhere and everywhere. thanks for dropping in.
well i doubt i made any sense. but then that is what this space is about. scribble till nothing makes sense.
it is truly exceptional,this prose-poem! discussed a lot abt home and what it means with a friend yesterday;as Edward said says in culture and imperialism,on the last page,that only a person who can feel home anywhere and everywhere has really got what it means...
thanks abhi, i thought i'd just lost all my nuts. after i finished writing it i thought it was the most pointless and meaningless thing in the world.
In one word. Killer.
gee thanks ari. :)
Post a Comment