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I got no home in the barren wilderness of my childhood or in the self psychic surgery’s of past
I got no home in the isolated land of strategies, wars, politics, accidents, loss of loves and deaths.
I got no home in the arms where my loved ones lay under earth, or in redemption, freedom and poetry.
I got no home in the orchards, in the midnight, in crying, in falling, in cosmos or in the drunk shade of laughter shot in the streets of blood.
I got no home in the painful understanding of blunt books which never matched my wisdom, or the roads I was going to walk on.
I got no home in the lost signal of the shivering phone which ordered the bombs to explode.
I got no home in the moans of this broken radio which in one slumbered afternoon was crashed against the wall…
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