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When i think of my home in France, I think of sitting in front of a wood fire When My body goes to that Place I can even smell the Slow burning wood and hear the Odd crack as if i was on a camping trip I can even taste the fresh Crepes from my favourite creperie Or smell something as simple as My uncle Koim’s apartment Or... My nanny’s home in England, Sometimes i hear Indian tv dramas And smell Indian cooking aromas As if i was at my nanny’s house My mouth will burst with flavours Of India such as butter chicken Or Saag or even the distinct flavour Of my nanny’s prantha The taste of the saag sets my mouth On fire but then the taste of prantha Puts it out like a fire brigade The taste of the butter chicken and prantha Takes me to my favourite Indian restaurant Except the taste of my nanny’s love Makes it better Nothing can beat it Or… sometimes it’s as simple as Home in Toronto and all i taste Is Papa pasta my favourite Comfort food in the world I am lucky to have a home Because not everyone has a Safe place to go when they are alone Lost or in danger some people live on The streets I am lucky to have a family some people Live on their own