The Homemaker

My home is what I make.
It’s my full-time occupation.
I give it my all every day
Without any expectation.

My home is my family,
And I am because of them.
Laughter, music, and wit,
Are all a mandatory tradition.

My home is my temple.
I’m the keeper of its purity.
To all that enters, I’m watchful,
And evil has no place in it.

My home is my expression.
It’s a mirror of what I feel.
Every detail and decoration
Is arranged intentionally.

My home is what I live for,
And, I don’t earn a salary.
But yes, I’m a homemaker
And this is enough for me.

The Place I Call My Home

I am but a traveler.
In the expanse of this world, I roam.
And often, I wonder,
Where is that place I can call home?

Is it my mother’s womb
Where I took form and shape?
Is it the house from my childhood
With memories of idyllic days?

Is it my school or college
Where I received knowledge?
Is it the holy pyre
That my soul takes for its final travel?

Turns out it’s where I have a bit of it all –
Warmth, love, freedom, and expression.
My home is not just a roof and four walls,
But, of myself, it is an extension.