Home is where the heart is, or so they say
But for me, it's not that simple, not just a place to stay
Home is a feeling, a sense of belonging
A warmth in my chest, a sense of strong longing
As a refugee, my home was left behind
Torn apart by war, it was hard to find
A place to call my own, to start anew
To create a life, to build something true
But home is not just a physical space
It's the people around me, the embrace
Of those who love and support me
Who lift me up, who help me to see
Home is the language I speak
The food I eat, the friends I keep
The music that fills my heart
The culture that sets me apart
It's the memories I carry with me
The experiences that have shaped me
The struggles I've faced, the battles I've won
The dreams that keep me moving on
So while my physical home may change
The feeling of home remains the same
A sense of safety, of peace, of love
That I carry with me, wherever I go, whatever I become
About the Creator
Mark Geriko Bucaling
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Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis5 days ago in Humans
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