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A Place Called Home

Home means different things to different people. For some, it is shelter, four walls that define a space that you can call your own, with a family maybe. Within the boundaries of that wall. A safe place to rest one's weary body after a day's work, a place to cook and eat.

Home can be a sanctuary for many, a safe haven of sorts, where one can live and breathe and define the space to reflect one's own inner personas. An extension of one's being. Quirky, bold, and colorful, or monotonous, solid, and earthy. Messy or well-organized. A home can be opulent and grand or subtle and understated.

Home can also be a person, someone who resonates with your inner being. A person with whom you can be yourself. Someone who is with you through the ups and downs of life, who provides you the space to be your true self.

Home is a feeling. A feeling of connectedness, where the Yin and the Yang merge. The contentment that a place or a person brings with it, a oneness of sorts. We indeed attract what attracts us, as Rumi says. Therefore when we traverse this planet bringing what we are uniquely gifted with, when we can fulfill or at least work towards our purpose, that is when synchronicity sets in. This synchronicity can be termed as 'home'.

If there was one word that would describe 'home' for you, what would that be?

A short poem to convey what a home is and could be:

Serenity within

A place to rest

The weary traveler returns at dusk

And now he can lay down his head

He can make dreams here, for tomorrow

He can be at ease

He may have comfort of a family

Or be a solitary being.

Home, she will take care

Of all his daily needs

She will give and provide

She is a gift from God

An angel, a friend, a mother

And all she ever wishes

Is for happiness and laughter to stay

Within the walls of her bosom

As she watches generations reign.


The Storyteller_Mumbai

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