A road like home

There is no part a journey
That sounds like arrival
Like life’s winding paths
With shrubs and thorns in the flesh
Flowers smiling
And green leaves clapping
As you step gingerly on dry leaves
Making prayers to their ancestors
Reporting your weight on them.
You need to move on
Closing the gates on distraction
To get to a place called home
Your place of dream
Where if you sleep
You don’t want to wake

Bose.