The sound of the soft lullaby

The purring of the cats nearby, the aromatic essence of white jasmine

On a warm summer afternoon

The smell of lemongrass and copious amounts of tea, in a cabaret of dreams

Where I grew up,

A place called home

Is home the familiarity of the known?

The words that comfort,

The hands that rekindle, the eyes that sparkle

With love, warmth, and beauty

Gracing my pathway with travels, stories and words that shriek

Of places touched, lost and found

And found again, yet again

At the same place,

A place called home

Is home the mind,

that speaks, yet bows down submissively

To fate and lines

Of the head, solid and strong

Imprints of destiny,

Bounded by borders, yet charting new territories

Is home an illusion?

A milieu of memories

Perhaps, a voice in your head,

A song on your lips,

An ache in the heart,

The glimmer in your eyes,

A place called home,

Lost in paradise.