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Mother, I Am Home
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Mother, I Am Home

Mother, I just wanted to let you know, that I am home, HERE.

This place, this land, this mud and rock. I am sitting here and I am home.

It took a while to feel this way, to finally settle and grow roots, to be grounded.

Flittery, flighting from place to place, I was restless, running. Afraid. No more.

I am sitting here in this place, this mud and this rock.
I see the church spire, glistening like an emerald in the sunshine.

It is on fire; I walk along these streets, past these strangers I don't know, going home.

I get my hands dirty, in my soil, my earth, my flowers and trees. This breeze blows for me; it rustles past my nose ever so gently like a whispered breath. It tells me I am home.

I walk along the hills and see the heather all burnt and savage.

I hear the robin chittering and playing in the morning, its red breast swollen with pride and belonging.

I feel and see the mist creeping along the valley, like a dirty old shawl, carelessly thrown around my shoulder, the sun is persevering through.

This cold is in my hands and feet, this cold is my warmth.

This grey is my sun.

I no longer cower and run from strangers yards and broken down sheds.

I no longer wait for a space in a room or sit alone on the bus.

I had to tell you this; I felt the need to let you know that I am finally HERE.

This is my place, this land, this mud and rock.

Home.

User Rating: 5,0 / 5 ( 2 votes ) 6

Comments (6)

Home sweet home! ! This place, This land, This Country. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
A smallest error: not homless, but homeless. Thank you. A 10 Full Score and much much more! Thank you for sharing this emotive poem. Most beautifully worded.
As soonest as you feel that a certain place on earth is closest to your heart and you could feel the cosiness of that ground/ place, you call it home. Just a bare piece of ground you can call your home, since you are accustomed to that place, to every piece you have found, it be the breeze, the bird, the mist along the valley. At last you are no more homless and you can tell your mother that you have an own place you can call your HOME
I hear the robin chittering and playing in the morning, its red breast swollen with pride and belonging. I feel and see the mist creeping along the valley, like a dirty old shawl, carelessly thrown around my shoulder, the sun is persevering through. What a fine and loving expressions. very poetic. tony
really a beautiful pom penned; thanks for sharing
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