A Place Called Poem by Mehta Hasmukh Amathaal

place called "home" is to feel homely,
God's creation standing by to look so lovely,
May be she is with all her elegance,
Everything for sure and no pretence,

Gently spoken words I hear,
Sounds like music in my ear,
Shivering cold run in spine,
As if showing drunken state caused by wine,

Mild walk around give melancholy voice,
She is with me not becasuse of her choice,
Always standing by and rendering advice,
Suggesting the ways with utmost care to improvise,

Bowing head with all weight on my solder and lean,
Air to suggest fragrance and house almost neat and clean
"Life is so suggestive and perfect" does that mean?
It seems half battle is over with clear perfect win,

Home loses significance if she is not there?
Without her no refuge and to go nowhere,
Ideal place i shome to step in with peace of mind,
Smiling at door to receive with gesture kind

All care is taken of with ease and no tension,
Home in perfect condition and look as Manson,
No clash of views even with slight reason,
All days alike whether season or no season,

With arrival of spring, flowers boom,
All happiness in home and I always zoom,
housing of toys all in single room,
joy and only joy with trace of gloom,

"Home" is an end of universe,
Does not come as surprise and need to rehearse,
It is place where even HE may prefer to stay,
Heaven here, hell here, we need only to create the way