Home is my Grandmother

When I see my grandma’s cooking, It always makes me smile— Her food is full of flavor, Especially her koshari style. When my grandma says it’s time to eat, The spices know it’s something neat. When my grandma says it’s koshari, The whole family comes eagerly. She tells me stories from long ago, Of Cairo’s streets and the Nile’s flow. The smell of koshari fills the air, A dish made with her tender care. Though I live in Canada, far away, Her love and warmth are here to stay. Through every meal and story shared, She built a home, one deeply cared. But I know not everyone has this place, A warm meal, a loving face. Some don’t have a door to close, Or a kitchen where the spices rose. Home is more than walls and floors— It’s laughter, love, and open doors. No matter where life takes me far, She will always be my brightest star. And I hope one day, we all will see, A home for everyone, just like me.