A ten-year old December anticipation
turns into suffocating frustration
A black smog has smothered sunshine
Home is now an alien destination.
I've come to see a face growing old.
For too long, I've ignored time's cold
finiteness. Finally, I submit to its grip
to return to nativity's primal fold.
I came to stay, but strayed apace.
To flee the tarry air licking my face.
Finding solace in Buddhist viharas and the
shade of trees, gleaning calm and a bit of grace.
I return to the face I've come to see.
The first home that housed me, my first tree.
The air clears up, I take shelter in my roost,
forgetting time and its limits. At last, free.
so beautiful, Bhaswati - a lovely coming to rest for April as well :)
ReplyDeleteThat thought crossed my mind, too, Giti, as well as DR itself, with the final stanza. This is in a way my first poetry home. A safe space with so much camaraderie and learning. Thank you, always. :-)
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