HOME. Whatever it means. All that it means.

Lately there have been a lot of words hurting like sharped knives, getting through places inside of me that I never thought they existed.
There have been many questions that needn't to be asked.
There is a piece of land where I've learnt my lessons when I was a child. That is the land of my ancestors, where the North is found and revealed to me eveytime I go there.
It's a matter of heart and blood, of unquestionable aspects of my personality that bound me to it, that will always make me belong, no matter how lost or how far I am.
I am part of a breeze of air dancing above the mountains without name, of the rivers tha run thorugh them, of the ocean where the world dissapears in the dreamy and wild horizon to be melt into strange paradises and magical universes.
Impossible to explain what I am and how I am without you.
You, who are my inmortal mother, my beloved heritage, all that I own in this world, my biggest treasure.
Your name brings up the scent of some unforgattable mornings and many starry nights when once I thought I would conquer some dreams for you.
You, who helped me to cherised them, who gave me and many others the will and the wings to fly away.
We will always be in debt to you for letting us enjoy the freedom of loving you in the distance without regrets, without any complex for being your sons and daughters.
We build our pride from your heart, as you never demanded any blood, any unnecessary deaths in your name, any words you did not well deserved.
We are as you moulded us deep inside your forests, where foreing invaders didn't dare to enter for fear of loosing their minds, scared to death by the talk of the wolves in your misterious moonlight hours.
We learnt your language shaped by your incesant rain, warmed by your lively sunshine, sang by warriors who detested bloody battles, developed by working women to whom you gave the laws of nature and the duty to protect them agaisnt the tyranny of ignorance.
Your poets wrote the words and bonfires of joy and hapiness, of dairy legitimate fights agaisnt oblivion, made them inmortal.
We came to be what you always wanted us to be. How could not be grateful to you? How not to praise you for your modesty and patience, for your beauty and the comfort you gave us?
We never gave you up, not even in the hard times, when wood ships drove my people away from your soft shores that they kept on missing till their time came and found them wipping their sorrows in a carebean island, miles away from home.
Not even in the good times, when we leave you just to consolidate the pilars of being that you so firmly settled in us with no hate, but with love and comprehension, with the thirst to learn on the surface of this big map of the world you thought us to respect.
Despite my desbelief in borders and my embrace to a wider view of the world, there will always be a place I'll call home.
That's what you are: Home, whatever that means. All that it means.