Home

When your shoulders remain slumped
all time along and your tears
don’t stop.
Its only when a flower blooms from pouring
of your eyes.
And you look up and you realize,
that flowers are all what have bloomed.
and you cried on soil which wasn’t barren,
but an epiphany.
For all along when you searched for home,
Home was with you.
Home was in the smile of a friend.
Home was a stretched hand,
Home wasn’t definite.
Home was a journey.
Home was being so overwhelmed,
that you couldn’t help but realize,
I was
always
home.
with you.