If home is were the heart is.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
an extract of a very,very, very long poem that I wrote some time ago.

Submitted: October 22, 2011

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Submitted: October 22, 2011

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They are like condensation on the kitchen windows. Pepper. Salt. Chillies. Turmeric, together. They are one, big happy family. Blurring whisks, wafting Cake smell. A mother yells above the noise.

I give up. I’m done. If home is where the heart is…this is no home. This is a Compressed train carriage of strangers. With vacant eyes, distant minds and a destination to nowhere. And when I get off, I have to get back on.

Again and again and again.


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