Home and Hungry

A fallen angel spat out from the sky

I hit the edge of home as a paper airplane thrown too hard,

And pointing nose and wings towards the earth, I spun softly downwards

Into the dullness of everyday sleep. In jet-lagged trance, I amble dizzily

With no grip on my life and no grip on the time – the clocks seem to discard

Hours of my life without regret while I sit and stare into space.

Home is the only word that comes to mind and yet I wait for something more.

Home has never been enough for me, the greedy one, the forever unsatisfied.

I stretch out hands towards the ripe fruits, towards the river which laps the shore

And as Tantalus’ dream they dissolve when brushed by eager fingers

I tied my hands behind my back and chained my bare feet to the ground.

This is home. This is where I stay, this is where I am and who I am and who I should be.

But Hell is only desire, and hope for the fulfillment of something unsaid – and I am home.

Home is everything, I have everything and still I ask for more and cast away what I have

To show empty hands to those looking my way – I am always hungry for more.

Trapped under the transparent dome of my wanting,

Knowing fully well there is no response from outside, no Echo to follow my Narcissism,

Having been thrown back from a fairytale into the bleakness of my own city, calling

For the storm, and lying down to be trampled upon by the pouring rain, I yearn

For a few happy days – If I cannot hush this heart beating as loud as the tropical thunder,

Then it is asking for the wolves to tear it apart.