Hireath

The chapters to my open book,

Are reaching the ends of the thread,

A handful of handmade pages suffused;

With writings, paintings and doodles,

Craving attention to be read,

The lessons to be put to the test

And the stories to be told to the oncoming rest

Are ticked off my bucket list.

So I make my culminating trip,

To my family back in shepherd’s valley,

Where the sun rises to the cock’s crow,

And the sea of stars alight upon the midnight stroke,

With an undertone of mellifluous winds;

Be it light or dark, day or night.

This has been my house, my place of repose

Yet all the while I have a thirst to return!

To a place called ‘home’, of which I question much,

Even then I believe in this calling,

I am called to come back!

For my purpose has reached its fulfillment,

An unwitting journey upon which I had set,

Have I now molding back to dust,

To reawaken within the one I call - hearth.