At the twilight of my life,

the shadows grow long,

And I think of my homes,

like notes of a song.
 

Each one was a shelter,

a roof, and a floor,

A place where I rested,

each a welcoming door.
 

I loved each of them deeply;

they made me feel whole,

Steadying my boat,

Making spaces inside of my soul.
 

We learned to adjust

to the quirks and the bends,

The way that a house

and a tenant make friends.

One doorway was low,

So, I learned how to bow,

A habit of grace

that stays with me now.
 

Another house taught me

to lock up the gate,

To keep out the dangers,

to handle the weight.
 

One had a step

in the stairway too steep,

A memory my feet

still secretly keep.
 

They adjusted to me,

to my whims and my pride,

bearing the tempest

and weather I carried inside.

But time is quicksand,

and its shift is slow and cruel,

We shifted homes and

parted ways under a different rule.
 

Moving on to new streets,

as the old chapters closed,

Leaving behind

all the rooms we composed.

Now, in the twilight,

I ruminate and trace,

Wondering which home

was my most beloved place.
 

And I see that the house

where I stayed for the longest years,

Was the one that

left me with lingering fears.

Too frightened to call

any new house a home,

And that very house

was the last home I'd owned.

~

Jay Jagdev | 27^th September 2025