Home- Poem.

I remember that the sound of the waves would always help me sleep.

I’d say a prayer before I’d close my eyes,

For happiness to stay, and my sadness to evade.

And in the mornings my bare feet would be grounded in muddy soil.

My house stood firm on a land that had been built on a broken love story.

Planted next to the ocean, where the sunsets, my neighbors and I would share.

I would walk on the sandy shores and bathe in those beautiful waters.

And when the rain would remain, on the coconut tree bark on my backyard,

It would illuminate the brown, and complement the earths colours.

What many see as polluted and festered, I see, as home.

I’d see sea turtles washed ashore, struck by the careless motor boats.

Children’s laughter in the midst of playful gestures.

I remember pink flower garlands and fresh cut mango sold with a dash of chili.

The evening treat with which my father and I would daily converse.

About how reefs are formed and why to the sea, can I not venture just a little further.

He’d say to me,

You underestimate the current.

You’re brave my love, but still a little ignorant.

Just a child, a mere atom, a bead in the sea.

Dreaming of all that someday perhaps you could be.

My mother once said,

That the dreamless, bare souls, which on the inside feel dead.

And we didn't come from a lot, but in that house I felt blessed.

To wake up every morning, and watch mother nature in her quest.

And I am a seed of love sewn by a much greater Painter.

Who placed the Orion in its diagonal position.

And embraced my soul with a cosmic collision.

He decided I would be eccentric and wild.

Perhaps a little too reckless for a child.

The painter made me wonder why the fisherman seemed so free.

Could it be, they were the true children of the sea?

Surrendering to something much greater,

Asking for its provision.

For an income, and perhaps a daily meal for their own children.

Every evening, the Tuscan orange glow from the sun, mixed with the rich indigo of the Indian Ocean waters, would create a purple haze over the clouds.

And every so often, on a lucky day, the rain would fall, and kiss the sun away,

And somewhere between the dancing and gestures of glee,

I’d look at my brother, the only other person who shares my childhoods melody.

And I must have stood still, if not just for a moment.

I’d go back home, muddy feet, wavy brown hair and salted lips.

I’d hear that all too familiar sound.

The sound of the waves would help me sleep.

I’d say a prayer before I closed my eyes,

For happiness to stay, and my sadness to evade.

And eventually when I grew older, I moved away.

But in the mornings I still see those bare feet of mine, that were grounded in muddy soil.

And I remember the place, I will always call home….