The Lost Home Poem by Shouvik Roy

I lost my home,
A home that was not mine;
A sweet and lovely home
A home so bright

The September breeze brought me there,
From a far distant land;
It took time to fall in love
With the home even loved by the ants

The day was her friend and the night was her wine,
Which I spilled on her womb
In the blue winter shine;
And which gave birth to warmth and rhyme

Her tainted, distorted skin showed
She was not a maiden, on them
Lovers of the past lay their marks;
The jealous me roared, 'She must be washed'

So the days passed me by
As I groomed her white,
She smiled and embraced me with love;
Her arms, perfumed and bright

But soon came the summer and I am away
Lone she was left behind,
Frantic for her face I come back running,
But in her arms a new lover I could find

I lost my home
A home that was never mine.