where is home?
is home where you were born?
is it where you wish to die?
is it where you wish to live in between?
is it where you find yourself?
is it the one you love?
is home something you carry with you in your soul?
is it all of these things?
what if these things are scattered all over the earth..and buried under it?
Someone once said to me: once you’ve crossed the ocean, you feel you’re always on the wrong side..
I’ve published these poems about leaving Montreal, which is a home
and here is a poem about going back home..home-home
They’re contradictory, but true
As I step off the plane
I let out a breath
one I didn’t know I was holding
Though it’s all beige and bland
with some sea and sand
To my sore eyes
it’s a sight to be-holding (close)
I feel safe despite wars
And breakneck speed cars
I feel fair cloaked in my abaya*
Best of all I blend in
And completely fit in
No longer …a pariah
- Abaya: long black cloak worn by women in Saudi, over their clothes
- Finding Your Place