Saturday, 27 November 2010

Home (to Leonie & Adam, and to you as well).

Our home,
it’s not out there
it’s not in the promise
of lucky numbers
or of random lottery tickets,
nor in the pretty words
of a skillful house seller.

Our home is not made
of the things that we own
under the roof
and between the bricks

that we share,
it's not in the things
that we bought for each other,
nor in all the money

that we can save or spare.

Our home is under the sun
and in those five lines
we drew as children;
it's in the loving shelter 
we then offered
to our imaginary friend,
and to the lost pet
we once found and kept,

hoping to never part ways.

My home is with you,
and yours is with me,
my family, my comrade,
my neighbour, my lover;
and with you too, 
kind stranger.

Even if we had to spend
long nights under a cold bridge
or if we fell asleep
under an ancient tree,
our home is in us,
mine in you, yours in me,
as we rest safely
in each other’s arms.

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