open window across red building
poetry

Home

I am eclipsing,

and the humour;

is all but missing.

I’ll never call any,

place a home again.

Houses are delusions,

it breeds a menacing familiarity.

Furniture is lined up in solidarity.

Hearth is warm yet,

the air is unfriendly. Glances

and few whispers, it’s the,

same old nuisances.

I know I don’t belong,

anyhow I trudge along.

11 thoughts on “Home”

    1. Drac Robert Frost is one of my favorite poets. You are right one day finally I’ll feel at home or may be never. I have never felt sense of belonging anywhere, nor in my country nor in different countries that I’ve stayed in over the years. But In the course I’ve made good friends, like you my friend. Thank you for your appreciation, you are always so so kind 💞

    1. Thanks John, you are right I sometimes prefer the thrill of road over the mundane familiarity of home, esp in winters I find home at times depressing. Thanks for your time and thoughts.

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