
When the terribleness of change
Comes sweeping in (again),
Throwing your cluttered, yet
Perfectly comfortable home in
Disarray and perceived maligned
Places and confusion…
The nook you so loved to read in
Gets filled by an ocean from the
Open door you optimistically left,
Praying for benevolence…
And somehow
Your mother is no longer here,
And your milkman has been
Replaced by an unknown quantity,
An unruly teenager
Who wheedles for tips.
The people who talk of
Important human ongoings
Say that you’re due and overdue,
And must pay rent
Repent
And repeat.
You’ve still the sheen of courage
To say to this all:
“Okay.”
And mean it.
* * *
So you move to another home
By the mountains, yet close enough
To the ocean — you have bigger
Windows to invite change,
And still a door at least
Cracked to allow grace
To seep through,
Abide on the cushioned windowsill
You call ‘resting space,’
You polish that glam and shimmer
Of indelible acceptance…
It continues to grow.
You make no assumption of security
In this new home of yours,
With furnishings from abroad
And quiet, benevolent stars overhead.
You play the game of truth or consequence
To test you again and again…
Until your home is where you are.
Your ‘resting space’ is the now moment,
And your collection of experience,
Perhaps wisdom amassed, may serve as
Imported china for whomever next to
Witness your passage.
Be they stellar, or otherwise.
About the Creator
Sabayo Matiku
I express the realities and frequencies that words are carried on, to speak to the heart in a manner that is simple and free. I've come to ruffle feathers and to polish the sky, to laugh and wonder.




Comments (1)
Excellent. Change is apart of growing up. Adulting is hard. But a least you find peace with yourself and wherever you are(home).