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”
It sounds like, as poet Robert Frost would have expressed it, Tanya, you’ve got miles to go before you sleep.
Hope you eventually find a place that feels like home.
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 💞
You’re very welcome, Tanya. 💞
I love this poem for its rebel sentiments; most people pine for home or the idea of home but you;re out there romancing the road 🙂
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.
I like this
Thanks I’m glad you liked it, appreciate it!
Thanks you Athira for your time! Truly appreciate it.
Pleasure is mine