Home is where you run to, to find comfort and solace. Soak in the familiar, the still and unbothered. The place where you dump the knotted mass of your life, squat down and start unravelling.
The first time I lost my home, I was away, and left rudderless in open sea. Everyone gave thanks at her death. In Sha Allah she is no longer suffering.
The second time, was when they failed to shield us from monsters under our beds. What monsters, they said. We were barehanded, gutted and eaten raw.
The third was when I almost drowned in the pungency of spirits, powders and carelessness. I stopped breathing to survive.
Fourth is now. I am bound, gagged and tucked in. What we thought was a caress, is a noose.
Where do I unravel now?
The knotted mass on my shoulders could eclipse the sun.
.
.
.
Vilunoo hey 
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