Like a traveller,
my mind has wandered
the streets of different cities,
across different eras,
looking for home,
like an abandoned child
looking for her parents in the crowd.
My mind tries to find solace
meets with philosophers from all ages,
but soon realises that they too
So my mind builds its own home,
out of mortar, money and
all that it calls as ‘me’ and ‘mine’.
It puts in a bed,
a lock at the door and
a welcome mat at the front.
Yet my mind does not sleep at night
in that bed in that house with
the lock and welcome mat.
It lays awake thinking of how
to protect the home
that was supposed to protect me.
Anxious with fear,
she runs again through the dark and winding streets,
desperately crying out to all the faces she meets
to take her home.
Exhausted of the meaningless chase
for what could be
but is not,
my mind stops searching,
and in that moment,