• Panah Kirana

Houses and Home

Updated: Aug 24, 2020

Tell me,


does the driftwood go

when it is pushed away

by both sea and shore–

as time wears it off

from skin and hope

of arriving at land

where its fellow trees grow?

For the oceans and wars

carry the oars

and longings of men

far from their homes;

to those grasping for aid

the foreign docks force

their folded hands back

to the embrace

of cold firearms.

Tell them,

what home

can they run to

when the ground shakes

with the trembling of knees

and the quiver of pleas–

where children are slaughtered

in silence

no louder than the winds

that will blow

at their footprints

on the fading sand,

as our ignorance

takes the shape of a sift?

How do we tell them

that hunger is not

just in their thin bones–

it is in ample flesh

and corpulent lust

that eats off from people

with sealed lips,

chained necks

and fettered wrists,

incapable of feeding

their very own mouths?

What do we say

aside from the fact

that these people are robbed

of home–

of their belonging

to a place where safety awaits,

to a vessel that follows

in soars and rests;

a self,

a soul–

as they are sold off

like houses and properties

that belong to money

no family affords?

A girl told me

in hushed whispers,

that we have often

grown deaf and mute–

but in a lifestyle

where our five senses

are sometimes

screened from the truth,

there is a constant cry

in our blind hearts

that we must always

answer to.

For beyond our barbed

and malicious actions–

some prey,

some of us butchers–

there is a home

as there is a human

deep inside

of both

when we keep

our doors


as beings

in need of help

and love.

So stop the auction;

stop the carnage,

end the indifference.

There is no right

nor wrong time

to start treating people

like they,

and like we,

are people.


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