Home in the Clouds
Some times I see Home as so lonely,
a dome of tacit monsters and nightmares.
A hub of impossible possibilities and uncommon cultures. 
I would shy away from saying the word ‘home’,                                                                                  but can a man run away from his shadows?
Home is my shadows, the very silhouette of my colours.
Haven’t I been foolish?
To think that a wise man can make do without his roots.
I should have learnt from the travelling boa-constrictor.
While he was away, his enemies occupied his bed and wrote him quit-notice.
Upon his return, the boa laughed, thanked providence, and then began to make fire for dinner.
Maybe I should learn from the nursing leopard who was having a drink by the lake when a hungry  ‘gator’ attacked.
That very day, the alligator was a big problem to the mother-cat
But then on that same day, that same gator became breakfast for the mother-cat
Home is home to the strong
Home is the strength of the strong.
Home can be East or West
Home is anywhere you call home,
except if you build your home in the clouds.

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