Neri Oxman once said:

"You have to go away, to come back home.
You'll never truly have a sense of home,
until you leave home."

Such discontentment over the thought of home
can never carry the despair that is just so wary.

Henceforth; I bemoaned of home---
only to wander far away from it.
Only to never come back home.

Because in truth, my "home" had been lost.
My "home" already went away.

New one, old one---
They depict such distinct disparity

But then again... this is as good as it can get.

Yet, bemoan I still.

Praised by a drunkard,

Just when my craving for respect,
From Oprah, Obama or

The Queen,

Seems to be all the appreciation I need,
She,

Walks in,
Demanding demurely, hand

Held out, just
Two sticks.

Her praise almost makes me cry –

she is so dignified
tight dress not too
tight, just so –

Fabulous shades she says, glasses I reply.

Everybody needs words of encouragement sometime,
And she wrangles,

A full pack of cigarettes from me,
Between my shopping list, a burgundy coloured,

Brandy glass and,

An Orange Juice,
Placed just so,

Always good practise to keep a spare,
Packet of cigarettes in the car.

I am still laughing.