There’s a frightening coldness to a new city,
Even under shelter and comfort,
You feel closer to the homeless
Than to the ones rushing happily home.
After all, money is the only separation
And material things can be taken away.
These well-built white walls won’t hug you
If it all gets taken away.
Perhaps that’s the source of the coldness
Whether here or gone
Your presence is of no importance
Your disappearance is hidden
With a simple bird’s song.
These bright city lights keep shining
The lives of people keep on winding,
And no one notices you going along.
They say home is where someone notices you’re gone.
I’ve tried to define home as a place in myself
And now I’ve noticed I’m gone.
I’m a bundle of fears,
Of changes and tears
Of burned bridges,
Of stressful falling of hair on the floor,
Of hasty decisions on lovers,
Of books which lose sense when they enter my head.
Where have I gone?
Though was I ever really home?