Pieces of Home

Crowded street, twinkling lights

Happy dogs sleeping on streets wide

Dingy lanes, stuffed rickshaw

Oh the chaos everywhere, and so is the glee

Tiny pieces of my home

That’s what I miss, you see.

 

That slight bent of the river

December mornings giving me a shiver

A Loud thunk of an evening temple gong

A burly communist walking amidst believers

Oh the music everywhere immersing me

So many random slices of my home

That’s what I miss terribly, you see.

 

The unmissable aroma of fresh, crisp kochuri,

Hot tea and loud chatter of politics in the air

Young footballer walking home in a Brazil jersey

Hopeful men talking of class and divide sans a care

Oh the dare everywhere, in all corners I see

That fearless abandon of my home

That’s what I miss awfully, you see.

 

But here’s the truth

Don’t think I’m all that pious or pure at heart

Took me years and years to love these parts

Lanes that I couldn’t then wait to escape

Paved the way today for me to boldly chart

Finally, I understand what truly sets me free,

Embracing it all, petals, buds, and the thorns

Grounded in loving truth is all I hope to be.

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