Dancing trees, chirping birds and a sun that shines orange bright,
Where blankets feel like warm hugs with that peculiar home smell,
Where breakfast is seasoned with love
And dining table conversations are peppered with gossip.
Home is where you leave your inhibitions at the door,
Behind which your mother’s smile awaits;
Where safety couldn’t feel more comfortable,
And Dada’s wisecracks fill every empty corner.
The floor feels cool on unslippered feet patting around the house
And life peeks in through the slips in the window blinds
For an infinite moment of calm.
The quiet is not too quiet,
Just enough for hurried thoughts to sink back,
For complexes to fall from your arms to your fingertips, and away.
Home starts with long roads that take you everywhere,
Dusty roads, foreign people,
Busied schedules and quakings within.
It ends at a haven;
Of quiet walls and a welcoming couch,
With windows to throw out emotional extras.
Sitting on an airplane climbing altitudes, I realise-
Home is where the heart is, and mine doesn’t want to leave.