Why Talk of Home?


Many have sung of the homeland

And the hinterland,

Of seas crossed and homes purchased

From unopposing home-makers abroad

In the manner of a Columbus or Cook…

In short, homes conquered,

Households looted.

 

Sanctified homes withstood plunder.

Could adding a home to one’s own

Make one’s soulful home?

Could the comforts of the hearth

Be bartered for any settlement

Seized during imperial sojourns

And its innumerable halts?

 

One brags of seizing the homes

Of uncouth barbarians in a remote land.

Does one need to be vainglorious

Talking of one’s real home?

Is it had by valour or bravado?

It is not annexed by might or main,

Whose seal is the ground below

And roof atop loyal to the last.

 

Here cushions and pillows are not exhibits

Of deerskin or hides of exotic species

That surrendered once to pillaging weapons.

These things pamper one like the luxuriant lap

Of a fond mother whose live kitchen

Smells of rich dainties to have and to share.

Here one gives oneself, one’s true self,

To friends and kin and all one’s kind

In this domain all one’s own,

One’s only real blessing

And inalienable pride.

 

A home is not an asset in real estate;

It is the haven of the homing bird,

A place to return after all peregrination

Life reserves for the wanderlust.

 

And even when none greets one at the doorstep

The composite soul of the home

Where all bonds join their spirits

Would sate one’s deepest longing

For home, sweet home.

 

 

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