‘Coming home’

I think you say, in English, ‘I will be coming home’,
When you write a letter, or use the telephone,
But surely that must also mean, that you were there before,
With possessions and your Family, and a key for your front door.

So, I cannot use these words; I am a Refugee.
For complicated reasons, my home I had to flee,
So now, no thought of ‘coming home’ applies; I turned my back,
On all that was familiar. A home is what I lack.

In your hearts, unknown to me, I seek your intercession,
I travel forward hopefully, I need no more repression,
Perhaps, when I’m accepted, I’ll recall days when forced to roam,
And know then, safe and happy, I was really ‘coming home’.

George Potter

Published by George Potter

A retired Chartered Mechanical Engineer, still adept at getting my hands (and clothes) dirty, inventor of all sorts of non-commercial, but novel solutions, amateur carpenter and occasional writer of poems and painter in watercolours.

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