Home Is More Than A Place

I was born where mountains touch the sky, Where songs of hope would echo high. Afghanistan cradled me when I was small, But war whispered—"You can't stay at all." Six months old, my journey began, A baby cradled in a stranger’s van. To Turkey, to Tajikistan—we’d roam, But everywhere, I asked, Where is home? I remember my mother’s tired eyes, Her heartbeat fading beneath the skies. Doctors called it "heart disease," But I knew it was from chasing peace. In Tajikistan, I saw nights so cold, With stories of fear the wind would hold. In Turkey, my dreams grew thin as air— A child should play, but I had despair. I fled when school doors shut too tight, The classroom locked by Taliban’s might. So, we packed again, through mountains steep, A suitcase of tears, too heavy to keep. My grandfather, once a leader proud, Couldn’t stop the shadows gathering loud. Even he, with wisdom known, Couldn’t make my province feel like home. India’s streets sang unfamiliar songs, Another place where I didn’t belong. I was a guest, always passing through, But never staying long enough to bloom. Then, after nine years—oh, what a wait!— I stepped off a plane, into Canada’s gate. The air felt warmer, the trees more kind, And for the first time, I left fear behind. Home is more than walls or ground— It’s the feeling of safety wrapping you around. It’s the smile of neighbors who don’t ask why You once had to run beneath a war-torn sky. Home is the school where doors stay wide, Where books are friends you hold with pride. Home is laughter in winter’s white, A fireplace glowing through the night. Home is the place where you finally heal, Where you don’t have to beg for a meal. It’s the hug of a mother getting stronger, And the peace that lingers a little longer. Canada didn’t ask for my story of pain; It simply said, Welcome. You’re home again. And now, when I lay my head to rest, I don’t hear bombs—I hear life’s best. So, when you ask me what home can be, It’s not just a map or geography. Home is where my spirit is free, Where I am no longer someone who flees. Home is where I plant my dreams, Where rivers flow, and hope redeems. It’s Canada, where I’ve learned to see— Home is more than a place. It’s me.