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There are whirlwinds all around me.
In the subdued whispers of passed on folklore, in the legends of jinns and ghosts, in the euphoria of love, in the nostalgia of a past life, in the wonders of a world which...
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a sun-basked ittir of roses, hold it close, it's the fragrance of your home: of a lone desert across the borders and a distant sun; a place that each day awaits your return, of dusky bloodlines and incandescent skin, a land you've only known from ancestorial stories but yearned for by your nearest whim.
you've been lost too long, from one stop to another, patiently waiting to belong, the streets that you miss is in the colour of your eyes, brown is a shade with a lot of love inside, and that smile you give to hold back a thousand tears; is just like your grandmother's from back a few long years.
to you; your home is in the fragrance of the sand, a lone desert and a lonelier land, to you; your realm is in the musk of your hand, in the slow falling of the first rain, in the hushed sighting of the first moon, in the sunlit shades of a dusky afternoon, to people as yourself; home is so much more than a land withheld and i wish we could all understand that.
to you; your home is in your dusky bloodlines, forever engraved on your skin like shades of a forgotten blue.
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a/n : To every person who has lost the place they call homeland.
If you want, you can read 'honey and gold' by avreate, which also follows the journey of a person who has lost their home, family and often times, themselves.
