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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The Puzzle of Home The sounds of home greet me like an old and broken song, The fish tank drips in silence, and my mother's laughter pounds the walls headlong, The clocks tick out of tune, like hearts that beat without a reason or a rhyme, And my stepfather's voice drifts through the air, ignored, like dust of borrowed time. Home is the place where your face no longer matters to a soul, You are kin, you are a tiny piece of something warm and whole, But crucial... like a corner of a puzzle without which the image breaks apart, And your absence is felt in heavy silences... even when no one cries... from the heart. I carry home with me wherever I go, the way blood moves through veins, I am built from several homes, from several worlds and windowpanes, Different families have carved me out with patient and diverse hands, And each one added me to this puzzle that stretches beyond borders and beyond lands. The pieces interweave inside me like dreams that still collaborate, Homes that merge together, lives that melt and find each other face to face and late, We are still under construction, a massive puzzle yet to be complete, Each home... a fragment of who we were... and what we forgot... and what we'd like to keep. And the ticking of the clocks follows me softly through every foreign room, The fish tank drips inside me... my mother's laughter burns through the gloom, Home is not a place... it's the living puzzle that holds me whole and calls me near, Pieces from different loves... interlocked... into a single... wonder... year by year.
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