Home
She dropped a glass,
as I was trying to sleep,
The sound of it
Reminded me of my miseries
Every thump on the desk,
Every knock on the door
takes me back to that night,
when I lost hope in life
There stood a monster behind the door,
ready to eat us alive,
Loud were those bangs,
scary were his eyes.
We ran, hid, and tried to fight,
I must say, we barely survived.
Now that I’m through, my hardest I try,
to make sense of it, but i cannot be lying,
I truly do not know why I still cry
If, after everything, I made it alive.
A place, that my body escaped,
Holds my soul captive instead.
A place that broke my heart and spirit, both
Can it really be called a home?
Hi Meena! This poem written by you is emotionally charged and incredibly heartbreaking. It is interesting how you have used sound to recreate the uneasiness and tension felt by the narrator of your poem. The vivid imagery you create using words is enough journey to transport me on this horrid the narrator has already been through. I personally relate to the line, “I truly do not know why I still cry / If, after everything, I made it alive.” as it captures a sense of loss and helplessness one feels after enduring trauma. The ending was thought-provoking as it left me to question if a home is much more than just four walls where one resides and if a home is made up of people while a house just needs furniture. Please keep writing more poems! All the best!