Definitions of Home: Part 4, “A Train”

Home isn’t a place or a person.
Home is an attitude.
Lying on the soft tiny bed in this train,
I realize that I’m not rushing to go anywhere.
I have what I need right here,
And it isn’t much better anywhere else.
I have peace of mind, comfort, and I have music if i need it.
Sure my relatives miss me sometimes and there are people who want to see me.
There are things for me to do somewhere.
But that’s all in the past and future.
Not on this train.
Here I am with myself,
And as long as I am with myself anywhere,
Anywhere can be home.
Any discomfort and uncertainty can be an adventure.
I don’t have to be afraid, as here I am just as safe and loved as anywhere else.
The world hasn’t stopped spinning,
I am very much grinning.
I am on the train.
I am also home.


A comforting dream about a friend with petty problems.
My eyes flutter open to reality.
I don’t recognize the room.
Even less the country.
My alarm is buzzing to some schedule I must have consciously agreed to.
Oh where am I?
More exactly, whose life am I in?
I was in a boring bubble filled with familiar faces,
Now I’m alone in a theme park.


I am reaching out for something to hold on to
As the map in the corner,
The once prized symbol of hope,
Makes drops in my eyes.

I am once again alone,
Walking away with seemingly nothing,
Hoping the rest of the world,
Those people I don’t know,
Won’t crush me and send me running home,
Where I’m not meant to be.

But how I want a home so badly.
Anything to end the pain of always going on and never stopping.
But I know I wasn’t meant to have such comfort.
Being ordinary never was my own.

4 Poems That I Like, Of Love, Of Travel, and Of Life

Although I often find myself writing poetry, I haven’t thought to pick up a poetry book until now. It’s an interesting experience, as well as a game of chance. You open a page, and who knows what you might find. To me these 4 stood out of the handy volume, “Americans’ Favorite Poems,” edited by Robert Pinsky. I hope that you’ll find them as fascinating as I do.

The City
BY C.P. CAVAFY ( Originally Greek)

You said: “I’ll go to another country, go to another shore,
find another city better than this one.
Whatever I try to do is fated to turn out wrong
and my heart lies buried as though it were something dead.
How long can I let my mind moulder in this place?
Wherever I turn, wherever I happen to look,
I see the black ruins of my life, here,
where I’ve spent so many years, wasted them, destroyed them totally.”

Continue reading 4 Poems That I Like, Of Love, Of Travel, and Of Life