Amidst the storm, I saw a shed,
A place of warmth where someone laid.
Inside, a boy with eyes of gloom,
He wished to get out of this room,
He wished to go to his home.

As he walked through the snow,
The eternal paradisiacal purgator.
His hands were numb, his feet grew sore,
Yet on he marched, through heaven’s door,
He walked and walked towards his home.

He traced the footprints, marked the way,
Where others walked, where hope held sway.
With steady heart, his spirit bright,
His resolve firm, through every fright,
As he followed others, to the home.

But soon the paths disappeared,
The footprints marked have all smeared.
He searched ahead with silent plea,
Still hoping onward he would see
The others—the home.

Among the drifts, he saw the carts,
Half-buried now, they stole his heart.
No sign of life, no trace of sound,
Hope lay frozen, nowhere to be found,
The others were gone, along the home.

Through fiendish winds, he still pressed on,
The path so strange, the light long gone.
He wished for warmth, he yearned to meet
A friendly face, a fire, a seat
Among the others, inside his home.

At last, his legs began to fail,
His body weak, his face now pale.
As he was too… he was going,
As snow embraced his fragile body,
He whispered; he was going home.

Amidst the justice, I saw a jail,
A cold, bleak space where hope grew frail.
Inside, a woman, fierce and bold,
With passion burning, uncontrolled,
She wished to flee, to reach her home.

She’d been condemned by just law,
She’s a person with much gnaw,
Her family waited, full of fear,
Her mind set sharp; her goal so clear—
To break away, and reach her home.

With clever tricks, she played her part,
Disguised in guard’s attire, smart.
She found her sister, trapped in cell,
Together, they’d run and prevail,
Their will united, seeking home.

She unlocked the cell with stolen key,
And pulled her sister, wild and free.
But soon the guards had seen their flight,
Their happiness turned into fright—
Yet still they ran toward their home.

The guards pursued with swords in hand,
The sisters raced across the land.
In desperation, they rode a cart,
With hope still beating in their hearts,
Dreaming they’d make it to their home.

But an arrow flew, sharp as their pain,
It shattered joy, a loss so plain.
Her sister fell into her arms,
Her only family, a lifeless infirm—
She’d never see their willed home.

What is home, if love is lost?
She held her close, at fatal cost.
One more arrow struck her side,
She clutched her sister, teary-eyed—
Take me with you, to our home.

Amidst the war, I found a place,
A ruin worn by war’s embrace.
Inside, a boy sat on a stone,
Beside his sister, he’s not alone,
For he believed this was his home.

His sister cared with love so deep,
They lived in joy, though none to keep,
As war drew near, the sky grew grey,
And though they fled, they could not stay—
But as he ran, came with him— his home.

One day the boy, too weak to stand,
Collapsed in hunger on the sand.
His sister left to find a meal,
He waited long, with hope so real,
Still trusting the return of his home.

He waited for her, but in vain,
His sister, so long, didn’t return.
His hunger long died, his fears now wild,
Determined now, though still a child,
To find her and return to home.

Through endless steps and dying sun,
He wandered till his strength was done.
It was hours, it was day.
Until, the blood led him ahead—
The blood… of his home.

He knelt beside her, full of grief,
His mind refused to find relief.
Though by her side, he would groan,
He sat beside his home,
But he wanted to go home.

The war still flowed, the bomb still fell,
His senses deafened, his presence pale,
A bomb fell on him, not that he cared,
Their body burnt, the pain they shared,
Their ashen bodies flew to their home.

“So, they all died?” my therapist pried,
Though I hesitated, I couldn’t lie.
He scoffed at humans, at their will,
Mocked their emotions, their fragile skill,
Their endless desire to return to home.

I once believed that very same thing,
That humans fell for every fling.
Yet as I watched their final breath,
I saw the beauty in their death—
The quiet grace that led them home.

A boy, entombed beneath the frost,
A woman pierced, her sister lost,
A brother, burnt with sister by side,
Each wore a smile, a smile of pride—
A silent joy to find their home.

My therapist sneered, dismissing the thought,
Called it senseless, for what was sought?
Didn’t argue, for even we can’t get it—
Though we’re higher, we still can’t get it,
To that strange yearning to return to home.

So, everything is ok if we smile?
If we just smile, is it okay to die?
He mocked my belief, but I stayed still,
For deep in their hearts, against their will,
They craved the peace of going home.

They don’t know how will they live,
They don’t know, when will they perish.
But they still smile, even if they are goner,
For when you die, die with grace and honour,
With no guilt and remorse, in simply, a home.