no home

i Dream of funny things.

crazy, unrealistic, wild,

they said.

Dreams of vivid,

curry-scented wind

soaring over

waves, trees, snow-caps.


home would not be stationary

rather pieces of my

soul, laugh, tears

strewn across blue and green,

lounging in hidden crevices,

caves deep beneath the earth,

pools of sapphire and jade,

riding the gusting winds

atop far-reaching peaks.


no, home shall be the hearts greeted,

food devoured, places well met.


not wishing the comforts of a home

always still, suffocating

nor a life cycled in routine

but a life uncomfortably

graced with adventure

gleaming grins among every image

glittery eyes encased with joy.


no, home shall be the wind

carrying me to Next.

awake in a world

teeming with Life.


Pen down,


(Feature image:Β Artem Bali on

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