The Home I Left

The Home I Left

written by: Sara Ali

 

I left behind a house one day,
not in storms or sorrow’s way,
but in a hush of moving feet,
as dawn wrapped grief in gentle heat.

The walls still whispered lullabies,
of laughter’s echo, soft goodbyes.
The floors still knew my barefoot tread,
the dreams I dreamt, the words I said.

A window watched me growing tall,
its sunlight painted every wall.
The scent of rain, the swing’s slow creak,
still haunt the corners I now seek.

We crossed the sea, we changed our sky,
new roofs above, but hearts ran dry.
The rooms I live in now are cold,
too white, too neat, too new, too old.

No house has held me quite the same,
they spell “address,” but not my name.
Their echoes fade, their warmth feels thin,
for home, my love, still lies within.

I wonder if you think of me,
the child who left unwillingly.
Do your doors still sigh when evening falls?
Do moonbeams brush your faded walls?

I build you now in lines of rhyme,
a ghost I visit time to time.
You breathe in words, in dreams, in art—
the house that holds my missing heart.

For though I roam where strangers dwell,
no other story fits as well.
You were my sky, my morning air—
the home I left, yet everywhere.