I see revelation arriving quietly at my front door;
I put down my pen, no longer to worry any more.
Worries feel like butterflies; fear a heavy drone,
Now my heart’s contentment feels like coming home.
How I travelled long years searching for an answer,
Asking frivolous questions that only turned into banter.
How I yearned for a friend who would show me the way,
Beyond the distant horizon with a message to convey.
Is home a place, a secret, a mystery, an emotion inside,
Or a house with seven gables with a door opened wide?
People say home is where you find it, either here or there;
Others prefer a fixed abode without a single nail to spare.
I myself have never had a home, living in solitary rooms,
Adapting to languages and cultures that use stick brooms.
Who could imagine I would see the light of an open door,
Shining down from heaven with grace and so much more.
Every day reveals a poem; every moment a budding bloom;
Every thought but a human miracle that disperses my gloom.
I am old but I am happy, what more could anyone ask for;
You cannot find home if you have not lost it, that’s for sure.
The freedom to go where you like and plunk down anywhere for the night is a gift that not everyone can partake. Like you, I have traveled. Like you I have lived in solitary rooms knowing no one of the many living all around me. Still, I sought a piece of ground with either a house on it or to build from a very early age, giving me a place I would call "home."
As a result, I've lived in five homes so far and have enjoyed every one. Now, at this stage of my life, I am following the call of the disabled, "Our homes… Not nursing homes!" For, in the end, while no longer able to travel or socialize with acquaintances or friends, having a place of familiarity with windows to a small garden and a computer with a window to the world, is all the freedom one could ask for.
Your "home" is full of richness......languages, cultures, etc.. You have experienced so very much. Some people who have those grand abodes have no "home". Great write!
the last line can be referred to mostly everything but home, which is the root and spring, does for most of all. For some people the Scripture has been as their home for ages, for some the absence of words or practice in silence is where they abide. . . a great piece of philosophical approach. Cheers, alex
Perhaps "..Quiet Storm" will help rekindle old flames buried and long forgotten or express the love so deeply locked inside of your soul longing to be released.
Regardless of where you may be found in love this beautiful masterpiece can be
Still Living on my Feet is the follow up to Tichaona Chinyelu’s first book, In the Whirlwind, which was rooted in a sense of hard-hitting revolutionary black love. However, in this sophomore effort, Tichaona brings the revolutionary essence from deep
In the Whirlwind is a poetic storm that frees history from the cages of corruption and puts it in the hands of everyday people. Words are weaved into a new fashion statement that has nothing to do with runways but everything to do with projects!
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As a result, I've lived in five homes so far and have enjoyed every one. Now, at this stage of my life, I am following the call of the disabled, "Our homes… Not nursing homes!" For, in the end, while no longer able to travel or socialize with acquaintances or friends, having a place of familiarity with windows to a small garden and a computer with a window to the world, is all the freedom one could ask for.
Ron
Love ya!
Jane
Oh yes,yes indeed, John, do I ever relate to that line. Eh . . . I too am old, but happy, and it just doesn't get much better than that.
I am happy you have found your true home...
Mind searching evocative words...
Diana...