When I moved away from home for freedom and such
I hadn’t fully fathomed all that it will beget
While I didn’t get freedom, any
I have built worlds inside worlds
And I survive in the inner-most, of those
Never venturing out into even the penultimate
Shrinking smaller, every month, every day
Is that not the opposite of freedom
It is, I believe, time to think about home again
Familiar towns, that haven’t ceased to be
Although changes have overwhelmed home as well
Its soul would be incorruptible, so I assume
Back home, I can yearn for freedom too
Unfettered by fears of never being free
Can wallow in honesty, in defeat, in poverty and in failure
Because why fail in a foreign land
When I can fail within the intimate boundaries of home
Thinking of summer sand dunes
Endless rain, slush streets
Scents of early November blossoms
Sparkling toe rings in salty rivers
Dancing shadows of needy children, feeble traffic
Floating poems, sinking earthen idols
Smitten in nostalgia, drenched in memories
In a home devoid of ladders, I could just be.