<p>Home<br />Home is not a location; it is a profound feeling<br />A feeling which, in gruesome times, assists you in healing<br />A home is your treasure chest; it is full of precious possessions and memories<br />Each memory is at home, whether it was the time you were ecstatic or crying on your knees.</p>.<p>A home is like a time machine: you step into it<br />and a flash of memories strikes you like lightning, the times you used to chuckle and<br />watch TV integrated as a family, or when your sweet grandmom used to knit.<br />The precious tears of past have been mopped off my brain The tender pain from the past has been dusted off with strain<br />The warm feeling has been blown away by a fan<br />The hugs and kisses have been burned in a pan<br />The reason for my never-ending laughter has seemed to be lost<br />But wait, thankfully, my home has kept all these feelings and moment,<br />savoured and frozen permanently in my heart like frost Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz was right; there is no place like home<br />Because my home is what is keeping me stay as what I am, because it has all about me, stored in it like a dome</p>.<p><em><span class="italic">(This is a poem selected from ‘Tween Twilight: A symphony of poems’ (published by Partridge India), an anthology of 30 poems written by a 12-year-old seventh grader. It captures the emotions and thoughts of a tweenager and addresses problems such as body image, racism, ableism, nature conservation, real beauty and poverty. All the proceeds of this book will go to charity for children through UNICEF.) </span></em></p>
<p>Home<br />Home is not a location; it is a profound feeling<br />A feeling which, in gruesome times, assists you in healing<br />A home is your treasure chest; it is full of precious possessions and memories<br />Each memory is at home, whether it was the time you were ecstatic or crying on your knees.</p>.<p>A home is like a time machine: you step into it<br />and a flash of memories strikes you like lightning, the times you used to chuckle and<br />watch TV integrated as a family, or when your sweet grandmom used to knit.<br />The precious tears of past have been mopped off my brain The tender pain from the past has been dusted off with strain<br />The warm feeling has been blown away by a fan<br />The hugs and kisses have been burned in a pan<br />The reason for my never-ending laughter has seemed to be lost<br />But wait, thankfully, my home has kept all these feelings and moment,<br />savoured and frozen permanently in my heart like frost Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz was right; there is no place like home<br />Because my home is what is keeping me stay as what I am, because it has all about me, stored in it like a dome</p>.<p><em><span class="italic">(This is a poem selected from ‘Tween Twilight: A symphony of poems’ (published by Partridge India), an anthology of 30 poems written by a 12-year-old seventh grader. It captures the emotions and thoughts of a tweenager and addresses problems such as body image, racism, ableism, nature conservation, real beauty and poverty. All the proceeds of this book will go to charity for children through UNICEF.) </span></em></p>