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Home (Side A)

by Alan Mehanna about a year ago in sad poetry
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through the eyes of my authentic self

Home (Side A)
Photo by N BarbarAgha on Unsplash

I sit in utter darkness. A country-wide blackout.

I question. I debate. I ponder.

What is home?

The answer as uncertain as the electricity in Beirut.

Never once succeeding to define what is meant by this strange word.

My life divided neither here nor there.

Split between East and West, between both worlds.

One too many versions of me to bear.

My soul fragmented, within walls of countless apartments.

No roots within the soil. No place I belong, water and oil.

Am I this or am I that?

Feeling like a foreigner in my own skin.

The more I grew, the more I searched, the more I realized what home had always been.

Home is every-changing, ever-evolving.

It is not rectangular wood or concrete. It is neither soil, nor land, nor street.

Home is within and not just without.

Your body, housing your soul, bringing what is inside out.

A warm embrace and a smile upon a face.

The world within the eyes of the ones you love.

Home is where your true happiness is found, not a place where you are forever bound.

Laughter at a joke. Gratitude at dinner. Interlocked fingers. Holding hands.

What is home?

Home is the here, and the now.

Blink and you'll miss it.

sad poetry

About the author

Alan Mehanna

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