There are thousand underground tunnels in the cities you walked through, you say.
Dusty tunnels where woodpeckers like you searched for trees to rest.
The absence of a home is what you find there.
In the beads of pomegranates you carve your name, mad at all the tender flowers that are 
destined to die within a week.
You are fatigued sunlight kisses 
so you ask ants to hug you.
In the middle of a day you are drowning in the storms,  
Not knowing that when you smile
it is moonlight that is  
falling out of your mouth.
Zipping up every wound you have you say love is not an adjective
but a noun.
Who will tell you that there is softness even in a torn out cardigan and that's enough to Wipe up the tears of a lazy child?
Who will tell you the ink spilled is a unique picture no one can recreate now?
Who will tell you that you are the rain kissed coat lingering near a hot glass of coffee?
Who will tell you that you are enough?
Save the poem in your kangaroo pockets
And when you find a home put this in sugared water.
Or forget it in the neighbourhood alley.
Or tear it down and sit on the red floor looking at blue sky.
Because,
You have found a home.
The one who came in search of you.
That's what matters.




:For Aleena♥️

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