
Photo: Inbar Asif
Be a little foreign
To yourself.
Let corners of not-yet-seen
Within
Take a tour
Inside your mind.
Embrace
The unfamiliar parts of
You
Till they become
Another kind of
Home.
For The Daily Post

Photo: Inbar Asif
Be a little foreign
To yourself.
Let corners of not-yet-seen
Within
Take a tour
Inside your mind.
Embrace
The unfamiliar parts of
You
Till they become
Another kind of
Home.
For The Daily Post
The prompt for today was just too on point to ignore, when the paperback became available TODAY (!!!) and when so much of this novel is about what a home is, or what may at any moment become a place one is pushed out of or needs to run away from. The connection felt even more apt with how the holidays bring up for so many the very realities and stories of a home (or lack thereof).
“Apples in Applath” is a work of fiction, yet very real children do fall victim to policies and realities not of their choice or making. Also real is that what makes a home or family is not always immediately obvious; and that hope and wariness, need and conscience, often compete inside one’s soul as one seeks a safe space to call home.
I’m very excited for “Apples in Applath” – my fourth book and third novel. I hope you’ll check it out and share it with others who may find an interest. I hope that it may find a home in yours.
Even more so, my wish for you — and for all who are or once were children — is that you’ll always have a safe nest to call home.
For The Daily Post

Photo: Inbar Asif
Be at home
In the world.
In the spaces
Between
Here
And now
All the past times
And futures
To come.
Be at home
In your soul.
Let it inhabit
Your all
Let it welcome
You
Home.
For The Daily Post
For all who sail
Across the sky
On stormy sea
To be near to
To be free
May you be.
For The Daily Post

Child Refugee – Photo by UNICEF
The scent of home that she no longer has.
The spices, baking, the aromas
Of togetherness
And family
And love.
The scent of grandma,
Gone,
Killed by bombs.
The scent of ugliness
And war.
The scent of mornings
Blurred by smoke.
The scent of sea, now tainted
With the stink of gasoline
And sick
And worry.
The scent of tent
And mud
Hunger
Cold.
The scent of hope
Faint but held
In Baba’s handkerchief —
He said he’ll find them
One day
In Wherever Land.
The scent of fear
In mother’s arms
Trying to filter comfort through her own terror
Devastation. Loss.
The scent of home that she no longer has
Wafting away
In search
Of someone
Who will help
Her
Make a new one.
May you always keep a light on
In your heart
Your place of better knowing.
May you always keep a light on
Even when it may well seem
The only one
For miles around.
May you always keep a light on
To turn cold
Into warmth inviting
And isolation
Into welcome home.
May there be a home for you,
At the end of every journey.
May there be a home for you,
No matter how far you’ve gone.
May there be a home for you,
At the pause of every breath.
May there be a home for you,
In the remotest place.
May there be a light left on for you,
To help you walk through dark.
May there be a warm hearth greeting you,
And love to bloom all sparks.
Let the sun rise on mornings
After nights of the soul
Long and dark
Cold with fury and worry
Seeking hold on
Tangled walls.
Let the sun rise on mornings
My heart friend
Worry naught.
Our hearts know
There are quarries
Earth alone
Leaves unsought.
Let the sun shine
On mornings
Bright as dawn on the sea
Fast to shed
All the fretting
Laughing, bursting to be.
Let the sun rise on mornings
One more time
Or few more
There are tides still awaiting
To curl foam
On your shore.
Let the sun rise
Within you
Have no fear
Time goes on.
It’s the soul deep within you
Knows the way
As it may
Not alone
Journey home.
Let the road
Take you home
Let the path
Call your spirit
Let the sky
Draw your eye
To the line
To the fairies
Do not fear
The dark road
Do not fret
Paths so endless
There are stairs
Up to heaven
There are rails
Bound for home
Let the road
Find direction
And a handhold —
Lean on
As the road
Marks your steps
Leads the way
Takes you home.
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