What is home ? A place where memories live . A fire place on a winter night. A cup of chai on a rainy day Familiar walls and doors ajar. Windows that creak or floors that remember your feet. Silhouettes of barren trees in winter , the monsoon showers , the sun burns , cracked heels
A pair of arms that welcome you home or the embraces that are composed in wombs.. Familiar faces are dawns and dusk. Smiles and frowns are the route maps to the soul. Conversations are food for thought.
All my life I have been a wanderer, a free spirit I would call myself traveling through places and hearts .. I always dreamt of a home, a place that I could always go back to . A place where I would feel comfortable, safe and secure . I refused to stay in a place and was always accused of being of too scared to stay put in a situation . But what is home ? What is this place that we dream of ? A Utopian place where painting perfection is only in your perception and in truth its all just a bunch of colors smothered over a nameless canvas . The beauty of reality lies in the acceptance .. That the soil beneath your shoes is where food comes from. What you flush down the tolet shall shower as rains on your face . The naked skin will soon hide anothers' nudity . A lump of clay, a bag of trash, a ball of meat and just air is all what we are made of . As a friend once said, once you are dead , they do not address you by the name anymore . You are just the body that you bury and you carry the memories back home.
A pair of arms that welcome you home or the embraces that are composed in wombs.. Familiar faces are dawns and dusk. Smiles and frowns are the route maps to the soul. Conversations are food for thought.
All my life I have been a wanderer, a free spirit I would call myself traveling through places and hearts .. I always dreamt of a home, a place that I could always go back to . A place where I would feel comfortable, safe and secure . I refused to stay in a place and was always accused of being of too scared to stay put in a situation . But what is home ? What is this place that we dream of ? A Utopian place where painting perfection is only in your perception and in truth its all just a bunch of colors smothered over a nameless canvas . The beauty of reality lies in the acceptance .. That the soil beneath your shoes is where food comes from. What you flush down the tolet shall shower as rains on your face . The naked skin will soon hide anothers' nudity . A lump of clay, a bag of trash, a ball of meat and just air is all what we are made of . As a friend once said, once you are dead , they do not address you by the name anymore . You are just the body that you bury and you carry the memories back home.
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