Human shelter. 

And if you want to call my arms your home, 

My gentle kisses your key,

My fingers caressing your hand your safety, 

My hand stroking your hair your assurance. 

Then, baby, use me as your shelter. 

Use me the way you see fit. 

Come back to me when you’re done with all the troubles this world has to offer.

Come back to me when you’re happy and content, so you can tell me all about it. 

Come back to the human shelter that has become yours. 

What Home Sounds Like

It’s the sound of the TV on

Even though no one is watching

The repeat of a Turkish episode.

It’s the sound of your mother yelling

Again at someone who’s disobeying.

It’s the sound of dishes clattering

Upstairs in the kitchen,

As the maid is cleaning.

It’s the sound of your sister

Singing out of tune in the bathroom.

It’s the sound of arguments

About who started it

Between your younger siblings.

It’s the sound of speeding cars

Coming to a halt 

Because of their wreckless driving.

It’s the sound of your father 

Entering the house late at night,

Still talking business on the phone.

It’s the sound of familiarity or

Peacefulness disguised

In a noisy background.

It’s the sound of 

What I proudly refer to as 

Home.