I
Through all my years upon this earth,
I've wandered through the minds of many,
Sojourned across distant places and borrowed walls,
Homes I once departed from,
Yet somehow never truly left.
II
A home I return to in my quiet hours,
Where fear is rewritten and love takes new shape,
Where pain is repainted in softer colours,
Making release gentler than remembrance.
III
As fresh memories are formed, the home reveals itself,
Etching its essence into the very fibres of who I am.
IV
So when the pull pushes you away,
And the push draws you nearer,
It is not the past calling you back,
It is the home, reminding you never left.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem