the definition of home

He walks ahead of me
with his old rucksack
and a carton box
he asked from
a store owner

A couple, giggling in front
of him, stopped laughing
to cross the road, perhaps
afraid of his dirt-filled

I trace his steps
under the faint moonglow
not to say a shy hello,
but to murmur a silent prayer
that he is off to
a roof where his
family’s love

until he stops
in an unlit corner of
the almost empty
walkway, tear his precious
box and make his bed
until the next

My heart, a foreigner
on this man’s motherland,
aching to
come back home,
now breaks for him,
living in his country,
but without a house to call
his own.

©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via my dearest @landlessvillager
For dVerse dVerse Poetics: On Wandering & Observing by anmol(alias HA)
For this Tuesday’s prompt, I would like all of you to wander around for a bit — take an old familiar walk through the sights and smells of your town or city, a remembered journey from when you visited someplace new the last time, a metaphorical stroll through memorized images and pictured memories, a silent observation of one string of thought to its last remnant, et al. and pen down all that you see, feel, touch, know, experience, in its ambit or perhaps its exact opposite. You can think of wandering and observing as an entirely metaphorical construct too.


142 02 February 7th 2016

Looking around this strange new foreign land, I saw a world that’s unknown. Hoping and praying, a better life would be sown.

I don’t have legal documents, only my passport. That’s why I fear the word deport. 

Resisting my heart’s aching and racing, insisting this is a leap worth taking, I brush off my tears that keeps on coming. 

For father who needs heart bypass, for mother whose mem’ry can’t seem to last, for sister now four-month old pregnant, for little brother who’s always repugnant, for them I am taking this gamble with mind and heart in ramble.

For them. 

Word count: 100

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Sunday Photo Fiction

A salute to the Overseas Filipino Workers (OFW) who loved their families more than they love themselves. 

In response to Sunday Photo Fiction for February 07, 2016.

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly writing challenge hosted by Alastair Forbes where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction using around 200 words. The piece doesn’t have to center around exactly what the photo is, it can be just used as a basis for a story.

Enjoy more awesome stories here:

Writing 101: Concrete Jungle

Honks. Murmurs. Smokes. Rushed steps.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“This is it,” I said as I try to calm my nerves.

One step, and another, then another.

I can vividly hear my new stilettos’ sound against the solid sidewalk. I can clearly see the busy road.

Everyone’s rushing. Cars, humans and even stray animals, they are all in a rush.

No one’s noticing me. No one’s with me.

Holding back my tears, I continue walking. 

Honks. Murmurs. Smokes. Rushed steps.

“Think about your dad’s old yet beloved car that was sold just to buy your plane ticket. Think about how your mom persistently borrowed money just to buy you clothes for winter. Think about how your five little siblings sobbed as you went inside the airport.”

“Think about your hopes, think about your dreams, think about your plans,” I said as I continue walking.

“Be brave. Be brave.”

Honks. Murmurs. Smokes. Rushed steps.

“This is your American dream, it’s now happening,” I assured myself.

Finally, I reached the building I was looking for.

“Welcome to the concrete jungle,” the guard said.

Surprised, I stepped inside, then looked back to the guard.

Seeing his friendly smile, I sighed.

I just smelled his Filipino blood. 


©2015 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit:

In response to Writing 101:

Day 10: Let the scene write itself

So far, we’ve found inspiration from our own experiences, images, words, and more. Today, let’s quietly observe the world around us and write about what we see.