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Home


There is a home somewhere
a thatched hut in a nest of greens
and large windows to let the sky in
and light curtains swinging in the breeze.
The little everyday stuff, and giggles
are its treasures.

You thought this home isn't yours
that the doors are shut, never opened wide enough.
But it never had doors in the first place!

Its the world outside, with its jagged truth
that was unkind. It continues to hide the home,
building fortresses of make-believe indifference.
It will not let you dream, for dreaming is almost sinful there.

But the home continues to stand,
warm and sunny as ever
And the garden you had planted, is bountiful -
a hued patch, in a sea of frozen gray. 



c o p y r i g h t    p r o s e n j i t  r o y

  New works || Sketchbook || Old works || Old-master studies || About me || Contact