Coming Back To My Little Home Poem by Atef Ayadi

I come late to my home.
As I approach it,
I watch for my behavior
my feelings
if they are clean, talk and stand straight.
i make sure
i have no unfinished
business left:
everything is said,
told,
and done.

my room,
my my street,
my neighbors,
the house number
the five street lights bulbs
and my old car
-I do not use or care to fix, -
my 64 feet square garden,
And the silence of the night
make me feel home
and welcomed
to rest,
take off my clothes, and
all the good feelings with it.

my home
my love home
the woman i always see
waiting for me
late,
the child i like to kiss,
the stuck of white papers
needed to be filled,
and the few
articles: the subject does not really matter!

my home
my kitchen
my spared cans
and little milk
a loaf of bread that fills my eyes and hunger;
A jar of herbal tea i managed to make

my home and
my bed
stretching itself over my room

my home
my canvases
need to be recycled
recolored
and reborn
again,
again, and again.