I am not blushing due to my home,
In this structure I do live.
This home is a scent and sense,
A link to the outside.
My blushing is of others, of rude strangers,
Who keep my home’s façade with dignity.
Home has a heavenly scent, suspense is in the ceiling,
The narrow corridors rely on spiders to clean the aura,
As cobwebs are so wonderful.
My faith is in the homes we build
For the rich and the poor,
The rich are in agony, and the poor savour
The air of the rooms they live in.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.