“Home”
A sense of belonging,
A place of comfort,
Apparently.
Four letters that I’m expected to return to.
Nights stretch long
Wondering where I belong.
I drift aimlessly-
A boat set afloat
Without an anchor
Surrounded by nothing but blue;
Isolated yet
Free.
Home means countries around the world.
Vibrant cultures intertwined
With the spice of
Experience.
Home is everywhere.
And nowhere at once.
Home is bustling markets,
Congested traffic, and
Jasmine flowers.
But it’s also snowball fights,
Steaming bowls of noodles, and
Hot chocolate with curlicues of cream.
Home is like a velvety jumper
Enveloping me in a warm embrace
Yet swiftly discarded
And replaced by another.
Home means letting go-
Waves of nostalgia
Crashing down upon you.
Pangs of memories with loved ones
Faded at the edges in a melancholy sepia
Left behind once more;
Scattered across the globe
Like pieces of a jigsaw
That don’t quite fit together.
Pinpricks on a map
Like flickering fireflies.
Home is ever-changing
Like the seasons
Metamorphosing
As if a canvas
Splattered with new strokes.
Pulsing with life
Matching the rhythmic wingbeat
Of a dove
Unfurling its wings to fly.
Home is beautiful,
A thing of fluidity and
Impermanence.
In the end
Home is what you make it to be.
By: Ishani Saran
