Longing for Home …
Longing for home,
for this roving lady,
means wanting to stray back,
to the places of childhood,
to the days of youth,
to the place of my birth,
to New York City.
Perhaps to tango down Broadway,
to go back to my roots
and sometimes the feeling is so strong.
I’m not a small-town girl,
never had a Main Street,
but I had the sights and sounds –
of a city that never sleeps.
Nestled in the quiet of Bay Ridge,
where, by the water’s edge,
you could see the skyscrapers of Manhattan –
reaching far up into the clear blue sky.
Some say that going home again is just a myth,
that what we’ve got is what must be,
but I would still love to stray,
through the streets of the city,
that I grew to love
and my hungry heart,
longs for what it no longer has.
To fill my eyes,
with the pictures, I’m longing to see,
to find comfort,
for my restless soul
and perhaps someday –
settle down in my hometown.
To remember and recapture,
those moments so fine,
of friends and family
and adventures so divine.
Some say that they don’t miss what they left behind,
but I know for me,
every street corner and every park,
even the waterfront,
will show me films played only in my mind
and I’ll be glad to retrace –
the memories I left behind.
For more works by this author see Rasma Raisters Author Page
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