This poem won the runners up in SCRIBELORE Edition 1 Workshop, in collaboration with The Holistic Pine.
Crawled up in the comfort skin of my bed,
My heart wished a million times, for a home instead.
I yearn for a hand to reach me,
Another life to breathe beside me.
And a place called home.
The thought died as it took its first breath.
This was home too, despite the occasional wrath.
The impatient honks,
Crowded streets.
The buzzling city,
The race they ran as rats.
They were the unkempt rooms of the home I built.
A home awaits me
Miles away.
Warm and soft.
A home,as real as the loneliness that surrounds me.
Yet I iron the white colored collar
That has collared me to its leash.
Vibha T, an aspiring writer and poet from Kerala, India, immersed in the world of words and metaphors. Raised near Kannur, literature is her lifelong companion, exploring the dark corners of the human mind through poetry and fiction. Published in "The Wilderness" by Writer’s Pocket, she continues to weave compassion and virtue into her writing, whether in the comfort of her room or embraced by the breezy world outside.
Home
Crawled up in the comfort skin of my bed,
My heart wished a million times, for a home instead.
I yearn for a hand to reach me,
Another life to breathe beside me.
And a place called home.
The thought died as it took its first breath.
This was home too, despite the occasional wrath.
The impatient honks,
Crowded streets.
The buzzling city,
The race they ran as rats.
They were the unkempt rooms of the home I built.
A home awaits me
Miles away.
Warm and soft.
A home,as real as the loneliness that surrounds me.
Yet I iron the white colored collar
That has collared me to its leash.
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