Maybe I'll Come Home

It’s been some time, just me and the road. I haven’t been myself, or at least what I used to be. Maybe it’ll come back. But for now, you’ll have to take whatever spills out of me along the way.

Maybe I’ll come home,
When it’s all over andI’ve understood what it means to be me,
When the wars inside me quiet,
When I have peeled myself open,
Layer by layer,
And found something worth keeping.

When the weight of my name doesn't feel like a borrowed suit,
When I stop chasing shadows, which always vanish at dawn.
When my head is drenched in dew,
And the rain threatens to break me,
There will be that scent—
Earth, slightly wet, whispering nostalgia.
Maybe then, I’ll accept myself.

My cigarette burns to its end,
A slight sting on my lips,
Faint, but real,
Like every scar I ever wore
Without a sound.
Some, the world sees.
Some, they don’t.
But oh, how quick they are
To judge the invisible.

The sun is down.
The moon spills silver onto the lake.
Distant cars race, headlights carving arcs—
Each one waging a war,
Battles buried beneath their skin.
They all have stories.
From the driver ready to explode
To the one in the backseat of a black sedan.
All of them bleeding, all of them smiling.
And some, like me,
Stand still, letting cigarettes burn their lips,
Waiting for another war.

Between the dreamers and the ones who have learned to sleep with reality.
I wonder if they feel it too—
That slow unraveling, quiet twist inside the ribs.
Maybe that’s why some of us pull over,
Letting the night swallow us whole,

Hope, that fickle thing,
Stands at one end of the road,
Waving like an old friend,
Lying through its teeth.
I let it fool me.
I let it kill me a little.
Because what’s worse?
A painful truth,
Or a lie that feels like love?

The city is sleeping.
The lights blink out, one by one.
And I wonder,
If I stand still long enough,
Will I hear something real?
Will I hear the sound of home
Buried beneath the honking horns,
The hurried footsteps,
The quiet heartbreak of strangers?

Do you know what it takes?
Someone kept shouting.
Half my time was spent
Trying to understand.
The other half, stolen,
Didn’t wait for me either.
So I go—not because you asked,
But because my dreams betrayed me.
And in that moment, I realised—
Those tall buildings, those towering dreams,
They’ve already slept with reality.
I think I was done.
And so it crossed my mind—
Maybe I’ll come home.

It will be a quiet walk.
Even with my missteps and dance to the wrong tunes,
I will smile.
Because that’s all that’s left.
Even after despair slaps me,
I’ll wear its mark like a badge,
Like a mask,
And with my head held high,
I’ll shout—
At least I tried. I danced.

I’ll walk, then I’ll fly,
Back to where I began.
Maybe I’ll finally hear what ‘leap of faith’ sounded like,
Something drowned in the honking of distant cars.

Maybe life will write me a song.
Maybe it will whisper,
Just once,
Like it used to.
Maybe I’ll let it woo me,
Like I always tried to woo the world.

Maybe there’s a new chapter waiting.
A place where memory doesn’t bite,
Where time doesn’t mock,
Where past and future shake hands and call a truce.

Maybe once it’s all gone—
The weight, the wars, the waiting—
Maybe then,
Maybe finally,
I’ll come home.