I like those who return home
They are with Nature
They carry the moisture of love
There is a defeat on their face and body, a surrender
Returning home is the last you cling on to
Those who return home are children
There is the dirt of nomadic pursuit in them
Their sweats smell like childhood
The exhaustion of the wings
At every stage of the journey there is memory, the smell of home
The body is home
Till you leave it
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
smell of home, thanks, i like it