Call from Home
“Fetch me a home.” He said.
“Home?” I chuckled.
“Yes, some place, where the walls offer solace and the rooftop soothes me,
when I lay beneath it” His eyes seemed lost.
“You already live there, darling.” I slipped my hand into his.
Bewildered he gazed at me.
So I continued,
“If home were some bricks stacked
upon each other and some concrete piled up,
I would forever be a vagrant.
But I reside, here under this skin.
My soul plays in the gaps of my veins.
My body is my home.
I’d decorate it with the fabric of love and
pierce my flesh with utter emotions.
Cleanse my blood for the dirt of the times long gone.
The phenomenon of home is restrained to an enclosed space
or a hundred paged book or some person or some memory you decide to live in.
Shed that cloak of pretense. Accept the home you were born in. For once.
The melanin in my skin shall be the glittered sky you wish to see from your window.
My dull hair shall be the rooftop encasing the miracles and the energies in it.
My skin shall contain my space.
Home is me, honey. It is me and it is you.
Wherever I reside, my home shall be.”
A lunatic moon lover and a writer with a perfect choice of words! Also, she dances like water! Let me introduce you my friend— Divya Thakur!(@waackoholic)
Be sure to check out her instagram handles for more beautiful write ups and dance videos!
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©The Honest Fabler