POEM/ My real home
By: Snowber Basharat
I can smell the vintage of my place
Where I have to bury my dreams without regret
The soil asks me to hug her but I am afraid to share my pain
Will you keep my pain as your lost treasure?
She says, I am not like your dreams that everyone hates
Air is so soothing inside the grave that I couldn’t find on its surface
My bones are decaying and my beauty is lost but still everything is peaceful and calm
I am not alone; ignorance never leaves me in solitude after all this is my real place
My beloved is crying on my soil, without knowing I am here because of ignorance
It is nothing just my home where everyone has to come one day alone
All I hear is questions and screams those I can’t recognize.
