My Many Homes
Where the wind carries the leaves from trees of knowledge, there is my home.
Where people chew and savor the fruits of sin; that is my home.
My heart resides in the sweet, silence-filled county side,
While my feet dance to the rhythm of New York streets.
My eyes gaze in awe at the kaleidoscope of northern lights,
And my ears perk to the sound of Bachata flowing in through my window
from the neighbors across the street.
My home is scattered across the globe, like the stars in space.
And even though my soul remains in all of the places that I go, I will always be homeward bound.
Where people chew and savor the fruits of sin; that is my home.
My heart resides in the sweet, silence-filled county side,
While my feet dance to the rhythm of New York streets.
My eyes gaze in awe at the kaleidoscope of northern lights,
And my ears perk to the sound of Bachata flowing in through my window
from the neighbors across the street.
My home is scattered across the globe, like the stars in space.
And even though my soul remains in all of the places that I go, I will always be homeward bound.
♠ ♠ ♠
This poem was written alongside another one (which I wrote in Spanish) pertaining to the familiar topic of "home". We were sitting in class discussing what "home" means to us, and whether we truly have one.This is what my heart felt.