Home Sickness (Co-Write With Arshu)
A flake flies aimlessly down,
Only to be lost in the muddied ground…
The cold trace of the ice distinct - even in the chilly rain…
A small puddle left behind
Brings pleasure to the unsuspecting children
Gleefully stomping without the burden
Of understanding the lasting imprint left behind,
The seedling of dissatisfaction planted firm
The sourness of laughter, the alienating humiliation
Demanding to know if it’s a crime to be different.
A question lingering in the mind, a question of why?
Why, a flake is distinguished from its watery origins?