By Pavitra Nanthan
Picture Credits: Google Images
Sometimes home the shoulder of a lover,
And sometimes the place I can get one hot meal.
Sometimes it’s my friends laughter on a random memory
Other times, home is the book I left midway.
Sometimes it’s the empty clatter of the utensils I’m cooking in,
the sound of people fidgeting around.
Sometimes it’s the journey to a place,
a family I found in a new form.
Sometimes it’s the fresh forest foliage,
And sometimes it’s the people I gave my heart to.
Sometimes home is the warmth of a hug,
And sometimes it’s myself, with a cup of hot soup under the blanket on a cold night.
For more from The Word, click here.