I was born to carry stones
I was hatched in hospital by ****-poor parents
In the country my grandparents fled to for refuge
I can never stay in one place;
I said “home is but an imaginary space above the cloud.
The universe is only a projection of the mind.”
But, what is home? I wondered
I questioned whether I had been there
But I knew I had seen many others there
While they sit down drinking their favourite drinks
Or chewing and swallowing their preferred meals
As they walk street themselves or in droves
Home
Walking stark naked down the hallways
Quiet echoing in the walls always
Lest I want to make some racket
No one there can dare to stop me
The pictures I like hang on the walls
The records I buy stacked in crates
Spun as often or as rarely as I like
I throw a fit of rage or cry
In sadness or confusion or pure elation
No evil minions there to eat my bread
The plants I planted are in the garden
Just the way I rooted them to earth
In a manner pleasing to me only
It’s my obsessive/possessive nature
It's broken but at least it's mine