My own words seem to be

A homecoming, home to where you are

‘Cause words build our home for us

And keep beautifying it

With the promise of bringing you there

Sometime, sometime surely.

I return home each passing day

With a secret space enbosomed

Where I know I shall find you

In my lines and words secured

Such comfort and such assurance

That they become my happy space

Allowing me to bask in some pride of possession.


Perhaps I built a house

I saw it right in front of me

Where we could one day stay

Secured in our togetherness.

We could be enough

For the two of us.

For years I planned the new beginning

Banking on bricks of hope

And rays of laughter

Cemented with the mortar of love

Time went, the wine wizened

Things were perched up in balance

But somehow the storm rose

Almost propelled by insanity

And it broke into my home

Of cosy certainty –

And crumbled my dreams which

Were on the threshold of reality.

Like all the dispossessed and displaced,

I was stupefied in the beginning

Wishing to hope and hoping to love

But the picture was clear

Where there was home, was only

Confusion now, treachery and humiliation.

There were no explanations

We are too old for those

But somehow hatred entered

All the cracks of our psyche

And played itself even in our bodies.

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