We asked you to finish the sentence “Home is ….” and you shared with us some of the most beautiful words we’ve ever read.
We then asked Mohamed Hassan, Radio New Zealand journalist and co-founder of Waxed Poetic Revival, to turn your words into a poem.
On the night of the Lifewise Big Sleepout 2016, John MacDonald, Superintendent of Lifewise and Chaplain at Large, recited it.
This is your poem.
Home is …
I have known many things to be home
my mother’s arms
the dusty eyes of Cairo
too many cups of tea and a weak bladder
car horns dripping from the concrete heat
a soundtrack to fall asleep to
my grandmother’s hallways, the blowup adidas pillow hanging from the ceiling
four walls and an open fire
the insides of Auckland summers
the Nile road home with the fist-sized hole in the wall
the caterpillar buried in the yard
home videos sent from home, grainy and skipping heart beats
the Karaka Street with the basketball hoop and cockroach infestation
clean bedsheets in an ocean of night shifts
the mosque on Ramadan nights
Devonport’s open palms and midnight fishermen
the Quebec road house we never could leave
hot food and warm love
carpeted dreams
a bachelor’s degree
Netflix and male privilege
somewhere to burn my toast in the morning
But there are homes I have never known
the back of a 7-seater van
my uncle’s garage
Te Puea Marae
the front steps of a WINZ office
Albert Park after all the students have gone
Karangahape’s elbows
SkyCity casino on a Monday morning
the winter through Christchurch bones
a red zoned family tree
John Campbell’s voice
alcohol’s embrace
the traffic of restlessness
a burning dignity
The two nights I spent in a Gisborne car were intrepid
a middleclass lust for adventure
the Dubai airport floor I slept on when I couldn’t afford a hotel
my car between work shifts under the harbour bridge
outside a police siege in Kawerau
the bed shared with four friends in Apia
a story I could retell
a story I could exaggerate for dramatic effect
But none of it was permanent
none of it a full stop
no place I would hang refuge, a mast
and wait for the storms to end
I have been blessed with many things I never asked for
a center of gravity
kind-hearted landlords
the love of family
a place to sleep every night
in all these ways I am guilty of affluence
guilty of making a home out of ignorance
I walk quickly and avoid eye contact
when I’m faced with anything else
toss a gold coin and smile and feel generous
thank God as I walk away
I have often wondered if this city will daydream itself dry
will it bury its secrets until they are too many to ignore
will it wake one night in a sweat and know it has failed its children
will it feel their battles raging on its back
will it lay in bed and promise to change
will it open itself wide enough for everyone to fit
will it give more
will it volunteer at the city mission
will it love those who remind it of its shortcomings
will it ask the government the right questions
will it look itself in the mirror
will it do more
I have often done good things for the wrong reasons
to quench my guilt and not out of responsibility
or love
or purpose
but I am trying to change
I am trying to earn every home I was handed down
every safety I was given
every excuse I could afford to make
I am trying to do more
to do all I can
to make my existence liveable for everyone else
to be proud to call this community home
home
home
This is my story
what’s yours?
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