Sleep has left my weary eyes,
Like a soul that softly cries,
Searching for a land so far,
Past the seas, beyond the star.



I think of where I used to play,
Long for its soil every day,
For people’s smiles I used to know,
But my homeland feels so far to go.


The sun and moon will find their way,
To meet at dawn, then fade away,
But I can only touch that land,
In dreams that slip like grains of sand.

I’d break into our old family home
if it was still standing tall.
Electrical cords and floorboards;
that I would finely comb.
Searching for traces of us; big or small.

I should’ve taken the tub,
and the dryer was brand new.
I know they ripped up each stump and stub
and the yellow roses the year they finally grew.

This is just a missing piece,
this is where I used to live.
Memorized the trees and the streets,
and the faces I would greet,
to go see it again; what I wouldn’t give.

I’d break into our old family house,
if it was still standing tall.
As I dowse, no sound or a mouse,
was it ever even there at all?

Why did they lose the shed?
Why did they cover the lot?
It looks better in my head
than the day it was finally bought.

This is just a missing past,
this is where we used to coexist,
those rare family moments that I miss.
They’re now lost to the abyss,
I don’t remember the last.

I’d go back in time but
I wouldn’t want to impose.
Truth is the door is shut,
realize that road is closed.

I’m sad I don’t live there anymore,
I grew up; have my own walls and own floor.
A woman who loves me and her I adore,
but these thoughts still wash ashore.

the peasant girl
who once brought water
from the well
in cracked hands
has returned.
she didn’t mean to
leave her home behind —
it was just to escape
the silence between
what she needed
and would be never given.
she left with nothing
but a hunger for life,
so she started living,
and never apologised.

a ring of embers—
with my heart
gently dancing around it.
my face is flushed,
damp with tears,
as if they’ve started
boiling in the mist.
I miss you—
but you know that
already.

in my mind,
I’m still running
through the churchyard,
over stone paths,
stepping on yellowed leaves
that gave up weeks ago.
inside me:
homesickness, awe,
anger, grief—
a hundred hands,
all pulling.

you’re a morsel of bread,
bird-snatched, half-left—
carried home in my satchel,
like a labourer
at the day’s end.
you are what you say you are.
and more.
a frame around my soul
I can’t keep building.

I cannot call you mine.
I have a homeland.
you gave the exile shelter—
but she, the other,
birthed me, shields me,
and one day
will cover me with earth.
I cannot betray her.

for what you made
and left behind,
I owe you still.
I’ll bury your legacy
like treasure
in the quietest parts.
it’s mine to guard.

and maybe one day,
when time has vanished,
I can return to you—
shed a tear for us
on a rainy evening,
wipe you clean
like an old photograph,
and place you gently
back into
a quiet corner
of the past.

The alarm poisons my ears
the cold shower tortures my body
the coffee burns my tongue
the newspaper shatters my mind
my boss steals my crown
my co-workers play blind

My keys plays an awful jingle
as I try unlocking the woody door
door swings open, my jaw meets the floor

Your eyes greet mine
everything's fine
I hug you tight
over your shoulder, my dull room
looks all the more bright

Be it the sidewalk of New York
Penthouse of Rome
only you my dear make me feel
like I'm coming home

a green whisper  
                    curled on the curb,  
                  still as a breath held too long.  
                 its wing, half-open,  
               pointed nowhere—  
              or maybe back,  
             to some place it could  
            never reach.  
           rome moved around it,  
          unbothered.  
         motors loudly passed,  
        the occasional siren.
       indifferent sonatas,  
      and the fountains laughed  
     cold, eternal laughter.  
     i stopped,  
    but the city didn’t.  
    its feathers were soft once.  
   i could see that—  
  even streaked with dust,  
  they shimmered  
like something meant to survive.  
parakeets don’t belong here,  
they say.  
escaped,  
invasive,  
out of place.  
but it had tried.  
god, it had tried.  
  i walked the rest of the way home,  
   carrying it with me,  
    the weight of its silence  
     pressed against my chest.  
      and when i closed the door  
       behind me,  
         the tears came fast—  
           for a bird i’d never known,  
             for a life that couldn’t stay,  
                for the quiet way  
                    i, too, fell out of the sky.