Conversing With Myself- VII

Date:- undated
Place :- Zaranj, Afghanistan.

Home is where heart is.

Roads were many,
And forked at places.
Lest I loose.
Took the route,
To the home that led.
Leaving behind,
Works and worries,
Where it belongs.
I tread on.

Lively is my step,
Gloom and worry,
Pain and weary,
Of body and soul,
Fades away,
As my spirit rise,
And home beckons,
I tread on.

Tinkling sound,
Of,
My little boy,
And,
Mirthful laughter,
of,
My little daughter,
Sings in my mind.
Heavy was my heart,
And,
Lighter it grows as,
I tread on.

I long for;
Tender arms,
And long feet;
That embraced my body.
Delicate fingers;
That pricked my ears.
Nimble palms;
That searched my face.
I long for those smiles;
Which tells,
Of thousand mischieves,
I long for tears,
That adorn,
Childs tender face.
That gleeful laughter,
And tenderly tear,
That rankling cheers,
Beckons me my dear.
I tread on.

Long is the way,
Longer still I have waited,
For my home and hearth.
Deeper and deeper,
My longing grows,
For a glance,
Of my loved ones.
Cold food and gloomy weather,
In a strange land,
Tells the tales,
Of love and warmth,
That home is made of.
I tread on.

Though,
My feet crumples,
And head spins,
My spirit soars,
Beyond mortals reach.
Over the mountains,
And the hills,
Seas and rivers,
Across the oceans,
And desserts.
With wings,
Of wind and light,
I shall be home dear.

And so sulu sings to himself.