Home
Is it the four walls that surround us
Or the cemented layer
that covers our head?
As I pondered over this question,
I concluded on something else instead.
Home is meant to protect against all weathers.
But not all storms take place above us,
Some rise within,
coming with heavy steps
Waiting to devour
in a manner blasphemous.
And when storms like these generate
Prospering at their leisure rate
Home is the person which shed us from
this murky melancholic thunderstorm.
When the days begin to crumble
And the feelings starts to stumble
Home is arms of one
towards which we run
Who comes to aid in the times of trouble.
When you feel to scream
at top of the lungs
And no one seems to listen
Home is someone who sits down with us
To hear our heart and make life glisten.
Now I find myself at peace
Because I know when life comes undone
I have found my home in you
As warm and pacific as a winter sun.
