Easy.

Sorrow has never been a home's own.

While the world's busy accusing it

of its crimes: deaths and despair.

On one dreary day,

it would certainly walk into your open doors

with no knocks.

Then,

Let it not slide in through the tiny cracks,

then break your walls;

slowly first and all at once.

While you permit it to pass in freely

give place to sit, with ease.

Ask it who it is or how was its day,

And how long it wants to stay.

Like the gold polished medals 

put in the display,

duely embrace its presence.

They're both pointers of your patience,

unfolding tales of how you've survived strong

till the very end of the race.

Seal it not behind the lockers of your anxieties,

Let it out in the open spaces,

Let it free.

Long walks, or bed time talks

with your gooey guest, are okay.

Never to be forgotten:

Time lapses, and sooner than you think

Sorrow would have left your home;

Left you.

A guest was all it has ever been,

was never meant to stay.

Over and over again,

Sorrow shifts shelters;

It shifts homes, it shifts people.

For sorrow has never been a home's own. 

                                                                                 - J.