Home is —
Flowers growing
from cracks on
mossy walls,
Raindrops bathing
dusty window panes,
A milk moustache
and day-long
pyjamas,
Footprints in
autumnal quiet.
Words
that do not fly
away
at your soul’s
footfall,
Silences
without jagged edges
that cut your
fingers.
Slanting sunlight
serenading you on
the porch,
All-season monsoons
that splash, spray
and sway,
Greenness that
drowns
out your blueness,
A meadow to graze
your roots.
Arms that aren’t
afraid
to embrace
your aching
brittleness,
Hot chicken soup on
stormy nights,
Stars that sing
lullabies,
Sunrise at midnight.
2 comments:
That is a beautiful poem homely and comforting.
I came to your blog after a very long time.
I read all your poems written after this.
Thank you! Yes, it's been so long! How are you?
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