Of firsts

Of firsts

Hey hey!

Another poem on home. The pain of leaving your childhood home.

|Of firsts|

You grew her With your love
You made it all
Seem quite okay
But how could life
Ever be okay?

You were shield
You were faith
Against the storm,
You made sure
She was unhurt.

What do you-
call this first love-
that lasts till your last
But does not become your last love.

Rubbing against her every inch,
Is there any part of her
You haven’t felt?
You know her by her scars
You’ve been to all of them.

She is shy
She is gentle,
And so much tender
But to you,
She is fire
She is far too many things
And so,
She became.
She became fire.
And far too many things.

Tell me,
What do you call-
this first love-
that lasts
till your last
but does not become your last love.

She packed her bags
Stuffed in
A little bit of fire
And so much dreams.
Combed her hair to a pony,
Tied it with breeze (breathe)
Wore her roots,
Sprinkled mom’s prayers.

And as she leaves you,
As she walk and fly away.
She writes to you,
“You are a miracle”
And stamps it-
with her salted tear.

PS: what do you do when you have to leave your first love, you leave your first love.