Home, away from home
The city lights trying to lure me to a fancy world,
a world that had no meaning for me, yet this is where I now belong.
Memories associated with
the scent of the clothes in my closet,
the warmth of the blanket in my bed,
the fragrance of the books in my bookshelf
screamed for me to come back home.
But, the more I wished to get back, the more I was left
strangled in the threads of my own prepositions.
The bitter-sweet impressions of my own self
being at home became a far-fetched dream.
It became so vague to worry about
all that I had left behind long back.
I couldn’t really understand how
a new closet, a new bed, a new bookshelf
started to cast a shadow upon
the ones I once, used to call mine.
Maybe, the feeling of being stranded on an island of loneliness
redefined the meaning of my worthy existence.
I let myself forget what I actually longed for.
The huge wave of unexpected new setting that has now defined
new people, new places, new lifestyle and a new energy
that has washed all my footprints
that I had been leaving behind on the shore.
Being alone with myself, I tried to comprehend the feeling;
I started to define a new path that lead to me.
In a quest to get back home, I made one for myself.