Home aches in our absence

It gets swollen in our presence

Left ill at peace, if found void

It has been a rest for the jaded

Built with blood, brain, and brawn

Lingers peace and harmony

The inmates fill it cheerful

Their voidity wraps with silence

The graveyard is bleached in cloud

Their absence makes it unrest

Not an ecology — a living habitat

The dream is learned here, morale uplifts

Rationale shelters in privacy, crowd

Nature rues the open lea, mead, and field

Life fleets, transient in the uncoveted

A lovely flower under the window sill

Sacred pleasure dwells here, temple

Such a hut that showers the creature

A rare domain to live in; a few is fated

A home means a grove of bamboos,

An orchard of mangoes and jackfruit,

A front yard and backyard; smile in quiet

A squint of sunray plays hide and seek,

Perennial on ancestors’ inheritance

An altar of the impulses apiece, undivided

What if I should miss thee! Ah! When so fair!

It stifles all the sorrows heavy; breams up

Fount of affection, great and unceasing

It sleeps in drowsy ignorance, awakes fresh

Joy unthreads the horrid roof; bees fieldward

The paleness warms not the grave; gloom

The home amasses all weal and woes

Sans peace home is a wasteland!

©Basudev Paul