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Home is not a location; it is a profound feeling
A feeling which, in gruesome times, assists you in healing
A home is your treasure chest; it is full of precious possessions and memories
Each memory is at home, whether it was the time you were ecstatic or crying on your knees.
A home is like a time machine: you step into it
and a flash of memories strikes you like lightning, the times you used to chuckle and
watch TV integrated as a family, or when your sweet grandmom used to knit.
The precious tears of past have been mopped off my brain The tender pain from the past has been dusted off with strain
The warm feeling has been blown away by a fan
The hugs and kisses have been burned in a pan
The reason for my never-ending laughter has seemed to be lost
But wait, thankfully, my home has kept all these feelings and moment,
savoured and frozen permanently in my heart like frost Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz was right; there is no place like home
Because my home is what is keeping me stay as what I am, because it has all about me, stored in it like a dome
(This is a poem selected from ‘Tween Twilight: A symphony of poems’ (published by Partridge India), an anthology of 30 poems written by a 12-year-old seventh grader. It captures the emotions and thoughts of a tweenager and addresses problems such as body image, racism, ableism, nature conservation, real beauty and poverty. All the proceeds of this book will go to charity for children through UNICEF.)