Home

I went home to find
a box of things,
that once hung on
the walls I leaned on

I now wonder,
where do I belong?

Within the four walls
that now surround me?
or the box of things,
that once hung on 
the walls I leaned on?

***

A Start

I sit by a window
horizontal grills frame the view outside,
tiny frames demanding attention;
A building, some distance away
A gigantic painted portrait
shouting Bachchan Bemisaal
warms several hearts 

The wind carries mixed scents to my nostrils
I believe it’s the stale smell of fish
or maybe it is the smell of bread
I have travelled miles again
a stranger in a place I think I’ll soon call home
Again.

I stroll through narrow roads, 
while an acrylic pair of eyes 
peep over the door
Around me, it’s a cacophonous blur
pacing feet, rushing vehicles, 
inaudible thoughts and loud calls

My footprints don’t mark 
the weight of my thoughts 
Maybe the monsoon will solve that
Yet, every next step grows on me; 
a little steadfast, a little precise 

The newness confuses me
My tongue is tied 
with the questions it wrestles
My mind anchors,
at present, at bay
Some good distance away, 
there is home again

I have bottled dreams 
in every corner
I hurt and learn
They hide in benches 
where I laugh and scribble
There is another day, 
at pace, at peace

I have travelled miles again
a stranger in a place I think I’ll soon call home.
One day, I will belong.