As the earth below me quivered,
I saw my home being razed,
My throat choked and I shivered,
Could do nothing and only gazed.
It was not the bricks I cried for,a
Nor the nifty things in, that lay,
But for the warmth those walls enclosed,
And the comfort that consoled me in dismay.
Now when I couch at night in the shoddy camps,
Under the sky, in marl and eeriness,
I prefer the flicker of the lamps,
Over the blue and this darkness.
It’s not a stronghold , it’s a winsome feeling,
I now know why they long for it, who have none
It’s a sentiment with the arm of healing,
I wish I had realised it much before I had lost one.