Home?

By Advicaa Verma

The path to the home I once knew,

is now lost somewhere in the greater avenue.

Lost sight of this darkness, 

in the greater void so endless.

Home is not a house built with bricks.

It’s something you find in the single slit. 

Home is a euphoric feeling so warm:

a shelter from the darker storm.

but where should one go?

When the path is covered with snow.

When the home they once knew,

has left them feeling all blue.

Blood runs thicker than water,

but this blood becomes a torture

when it becomes a poison

and the person no longer remains human.

The roses have wilted 

and this constant rain is vivid.

I now hold this deflated balloon,

so I get reminded of the old you.

Is this the place I have been dreaming about?

the place that has been worn out.

A home is not a house built with stones

and our blood has ran thicker than our bones.

By Advicaa Verma