The Poet

I spot the word

“Home”

scribbled on a page.

What I see is you.

Not four walls

and not a roof.

No freshly painted door

or bright windows.

There are dreams of places, but they are not mine.

What is home?

Not a place anymore.

Not even my beloved country.

It is hidden in your face 

and it is you.

Home is in your eyes

the warmest brown,

my favorite color.

Home is your hands.

To see them, to feel them

is to be safe and loved.

Your smile is mine. 

When you laugh,

and your eyes squint with joy

my soul lights up.

When someone asks me 

“where is home?”

I cannot think of anything 

but you.

Loneliness is more daunting

and it is not

being alone.

The unnamed thing 

exists.

The thing we named

does not.

Or rather, it fell apart.

Blood is not louder than 

the sound of rain

on the window

waking up sleeping

children.

Still, I do not prefer the silence.

Just quiet words, quiet truths.

A reminder of something once named

is a reminder of the unknown.

A reminder of a soul who lived

is a reminder of a smile 

erased.

When it is the last time I see you all your flaws either disappear or are so heightened I cannot bear another moment with you. Either way, it is the last time. If we meet again, it will be the first time.

If I were a picture,

a painting in the lobby.

To pass by and adore

but never touch.

Each time I fall in love

it is the first time.

Love is the patient of us both.

The one with wings

who flies over the pain.

Who comes from You

may not know where

to find You.

In the dreams 

of ancestors 

we always were.

What is the cost of 

waking up from a dream

filled with despair?

You are infinite light.

You have no limit,

Creator of the world.

The longer the road

the farther I have come.

The more worthwhile is the destination.

I heard they claimed

it was for for You

when we cut off each other’s hands.

A long list of

ways to become

includes isolation.

Who knows

why we crave

some and not others.

Who knows who

belongs to you?

The farthest from me

is still me.

May I always stay with You.

Here,

the best is saved

for you.

No small amount and

nothing is owed.

How heavy it can be 

carrying a broken heart 

of many generations.

She is an abundance of love,

gentle and strong.

Who knows how far

she traveled to become?

A tear means release.

To build my self, the

core must unravel. I will 

face what hides within.

You and your mother

are not the same. Just your smile, 

nowhere else is she.