Sunday, January 5, 2014

The Longing for Home



Sometimes I wake up lost
not knowing where I am
where to go
I am in my bed
There is nothing to bind me here
nothing to make me stay
This apartment where I live
all my things
so flammable, saleable, destructible
All these years, all for nothing
I know deep down that I can't stay much longer
It is the wish in your heart
the whisper that comes at dawn
You do not belong here
It is the will to run
To go
To leave
It is the pain of time
The dust in the hours
I realize it now
It is the longing for home
It is the atrocity of dislocation
The ephemeral friendship you make
with life
The deals you agree upon
but you do not agree
It is the knowledge that this doesn't matter much
none of it
You will be gone soon
They will stay
they won't miss you
The land of nowhere, the land of no one
You don't belong here
...
Sometimes I wake up lost
and I look at my fingers
I look at the walls
and I feel my bed
and I look for the dream that woke me up
What was the message?
What did they try to say?
...
Sometimes I wake up in my bed
but where am I?
What is this place?
What am I doing here?
I don't know
The feeling is not sadness
or longing
or despair
It is emptiness
The feeling that you don't belong
that you didn't bind
that you are aloft
you are floating in a wave of people
you are drifting in an ocean of culture
that is not yours
You don't belong
You might try
- and you are required to -
But you don't belong.




January.05/2014

5:51am