Maybe a rock.
Blood oozed like gushing water.
The wound was stubborn ,as was the scar,
It did not leave.
But it wasn’t just a rock,
It was familiar,
A piece from the brick of the wall,
I once called home!
And whenever it rained ,
It smelt like home.
That home which I kept searching for,
In some eyes ,
In some hearts,
In some smells,
In some arms,
To finally find it in a piece of rock .
And then it hit me like a rock,
Home is to be found nowhere!
And I am still searching ,
In pieces of some rock from some brick of some wall.