Back to my home

The evening falls along the river bending,
The kitchen smoke drifts softly through the trees.
A flock of birds glides gently down the alley,
As if to guide me back to memories.



The dirt road holds the prints of childhood footsteps,
The moss still clings along the weathered eaves.
Old memories stack like pages in a diary,
Opening my heart to dreams it once believed.



Though I’ve grown old and wandered through the distance,
My heart still keeps the voice of early days.
A gentle knock upon the door of memory
Leads me again to where my spirit stays.



Take me back to the shadows of home,
Where laughter lingers softly in the breeze.
Where my young heart never knew sorrow,
Touching dreams as bright as early dawn.
Take me back to those footsteps of youth,
Where warmth returned with every whispered fear.
Though the world keeps changing endlessly,
My old home lives forever here.



The early moon climbs over waiting palm trees,
Bougainvillea bows gently by the gate.
My mother’s hands unfold the worn-out stories,
Lighting my soul through nights that linger late.



There are things I thought I’d buried long ago,
Yet every dusk they echo soft and low.
Just one breath of the season I grew up in—
And suddenly, I’m the child I used to know.



Bring me back to the porch of gentle sunlight,
Where quiet days return with tender grace.
Even if tomorrow leads me farther,
My childhood home remains my resting place.
Carry me through the sweetest recollections—
Rainfall singing softly on the eaves.
Though time drifts on to someplace far away,
My old home never truly leaves.