“You can’t return home again,” I have been told,
Especially the home you knew as a 6-year old,
I am not sure if there’s anything left,
Even using my things seems like a theft.

I have slept on my own bed and pillow,
Hoping the rest of the intimacy will follow,
All I found was a new smell and a little sorrow,
And whatever what was once full, is now hollow.

Why must I not feel at home?
With those I call my own?
Why must I abdicate my throne?
With no guiding signals to be shown?

No pillar of fire in the night,
So I could see a light,
No set of clouds in the day,
For me to know the way.

God did that for Moses, couldn’t he do it for me?
Just like him I had five excuses: “Oh, why me?”
“Who is sending me? What if they don’t believe me?”
“I am not a good speaker, I don’t want to go” you see.

I am a survivor though,
I am one, I just know,
You better not be my foe,
And not even step on my toe.

I have survived the turning of water to blood,
The curse of suffering flies, lice, and frogs,
The darkness, the pestilence, and the flood,
And the parting of sea as I was chased by dogs.

I will change my home and have a new adventure,
I will tear the walls and make a new architecture,
I am set for a new beginning, a new departure,
And there’s the whole future ahead of me to capture.

The golden calf I built will be melted,
The fattened sheep will be slaughtered,
A new place will be remodeled on the foundations,
Of the old one, and I am now setting the preparations.

So if “you can’t return home again,”
You might as well chose a new den,
I may not have much, but in my home you are welcome,
I have some roasted almonds, won’t you have some?