Missing Home

I have deviated, and I feel shameful.
I am so encouraged and enticed, to say that I am shameful.
So who is truly shameful, is it me, or is it me?
Which of me; whom I think I am, or who I truly am; have I identified myself with?

I miss Home, and I want to go Home.
But to miss Home, I miss what is here.
But where is here, but the so-called dream.
A dream or a Reality, only relevant to me.

I thought I'd stay grounded, and then I realised I can't try.
It's either I am, or I am not.
And then I'd feel floaty, and question if my eyes are wearing out.
Wearing out or not; what about the moments when what sees are clear?

Am I lost or am I not?
Why haven't I got the phonecall?
Is it my own resistance, or is it really not time?
Did I really not surrendered, or did I only thought I did?

My mirage is my reality; yet this reality is only a mirage.
My sudden fear of non-growth - the biggest delusional, an obstacle.
As unreal as it is, how real I feel its presence.

How do I get out of here? So many fishes in the net.
All seems as attractive, as it marvels through other's growth.
Where am I now in this dream or reality?
I am not gone, neither am I here.