Home, sweet home, so far away,
Have to get there.
No work here, everything is closed

Kids are hungry, so are we,
No transport, no money, no food too
We pack up to leave

Across cities, across villages,
across forests and state lines,
We walk on.

Sometimes police chase,
Sometimes dogs too, but,
We walk on.

Sun beats down,
Sweat pours down, but,
We walk on.

The feet hurt, the stomach rumbles,
Mainly the heart aches, but,
We walk on.

We stick to rail lines to take us home,
To keep us on track, not losing our way,
We walk on.

The night falls, dreams overcome,
The train comes thundering,
We no longer walk.


This post is a part of the weekend blog writing prompt hosted by Sammi Cox. She posts a challenge every week. This week’s prompt is to write a piece of prose or poetry with no more and no less than 114 words with the word “Home” in it.

It is also my anguish at the death of 16 migrant labourers who died tragically crushed under a train as they slept in exhaustion when they were walking home in this lockdown in Aurangabad, India.