The Realization Of Home

I've tasted the delights of the Middle East and danced through the monsoon season in Asia. I've marvelled under the lights of New York City, and bought new pants, to fit newfound round belly in Spain.

I've argued with my Italian family, around the dinner table, and bartered for the best coloured rugs, through the souks of Morocco. I've sailed a yacht into the sunset, around the Greek isles, and drunk until the sun rises, in San Francisco.

I've poured endless amounts of cocktails in the UK, and frozen my fingers to the bone, in the ice castles of Switzerland. I've had elephant cuddles in Thailand, and played with the monkeys of Indonesia.

I've shared water, under the heat of the desert sun, and drunk Champaign underneath the Eiffel tower. I've listened to a swami speak, and soaked in, the melodic sound of, the "call to prayer. I've bathed under the moonlight in the Scottish highlands, and sung the Irish jig through St. Pat’s day, down the streets of Dublin.

I've tasted the sweetness of fresh dates in Oman, and enjoyed the taste of "mammas" home made Halva in Kuwait. I've gazed at the Pyramids of Egypt, and bathed in the hot springs of Palea Kameni. Taken a mud bath, and sailed off into the sunset, back to Santorini.

I've kissed the Blarney stone in Cork, and written on the peace wall in Belfast. I've partied under the full moon, on Koh Phangan, and snorkelled around the Gili Islands.

I've jumped out of a plane in Byron Bay, and Kayaked down the Karuah River. I've joined in the music of Kirtan, and prayed to the divine.

I've seen the sadness of poverty in eyes I've met, and felt the love of brand new babies born. I've painted the night sky with sparklers, at New Year, and laid a wreath for the Anzacs.

I've smoked shisha in a tent, on the beach, and sipped on coconuts in the sun. I've ridden a gondola through Venice, and taken a train up the Jungfrau.

But nothing. Nothing compares, to the smell of home. The feeling that flows through my heart, as I walk into my parent’s home,

Or drinking cognac with my best friend, as we fix the problems of the world through conversation.

And the cry, Ruby, my dog makes, as I come back home to her once again.

The way things never change, down the streets of my hometown, the local IGA Supermarket, still hasn’t any variety, of products to buy. The birds still land to be fed, on my parents back veranda, and when I meet old friends, the only thing that's different, is the depth in our face, plus a kid or two (on their behalf).

And the coffee my dad makes, is still the best in the world. Through all the adventures, the love, the learning’s, the people...

I still call Australia home...

And someday we'll all be together once more, when all the ships come back to shore. I'll realise something I've always known... I still call Australia home

~Peter Allen~

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