Vihaan Jiju

Where The Birds Fly

By Vihaan Jiju

I watch as endless clouds drift high above,

While rolling hills rise and gently fall.

The birds glide freely, tracing paths unknown,

Without a single care at all.

To places that they call home,

Where belonging isn’t questioned,

Where they’ve never had to roam.

But what place could I call home,

Could I fly with the birds gliding so free,

Or run with the breeze ever at ease.

Maybe I could flow with a slow and steady stream,

How about I sink deep into the colorful seas.

But none feel just right,

I still don’t know where I belong.

Is it across the oceans ever so free,

Or in a land that makes my brain freeze.

Where must I go and how far shall it be?

Where is it? Where is it? Where should I be,

Opening doors and wandering in.

Aimlessly running through hallways that never end.

But amidst all the sorrow, pain and regret, 

A noise breaks the silence, a noise filled with content.

Laughter and talking, smiling too,

Across the field and rolling hills,

Through places that seem to stand still,

To a home where I belong,

A home filled with family and friends,

Filled with life and smiles that never end.

And that is my home it is not a place but a space,

A space filled with people I care about,

A home where I belong.