My Home

It’s not where the bed is,
Nor where there is shower.
It’s not where the food is cooked,
Nor where all the clothes are.

It’s not where the TV is on,
Nor where the shoes lay.
It’s not where all the newspapers stop,
Nor where the guests stay.

It’s who I return to, from a long day,
To the arms and hugs to rest.
It’s who I wake up to, from a
beautiful night
To that smile and kisses unlimited.

It’s who I bare it all to,
keep no secrets, no judgements.
It’s who I am with myself
who is my safe place too.
It’s who loves me like I dream.
It’s who holds me as I weep.

It’s who dances funny to make me smile.
And tells sweet nothing to put me to sleep.
It’s who makes my soul bloom,
whose absence, even for a day,
makes me feel like a fish sans water.
It’s who holds my hand as I take
the dip in Ganga.

It’s who I watch, starry eyed, at
work, each day.

It’s who is all around me, always.

It’s not where, it’s who.

I know you know, but still,
I take you close, on my toes,
I whisper in your ear:
my home is you!

I am homeless without you.
I come to you.
I fall in you.
I breathe you & sleep in you.