Flowers from home

“What do I call home?”

A question,

Making me float in space.

Detached from my being, my possession.

---

I think about the roots that ground me

The one place my parents dispersed to

I think of the place that made me grow

The one where I felt,

The sun, shine the most

---

My befuddled mind shows me a pantomime

The arms of my father; safety

The crinkles around my grandmother’s eyes; comfort

The sweet taste of my mother’s kheer; heavenly familiarity

All circle back to the question of home; the distant notion

---

But deep in the crevices of my mind lies a memory

Where I could let myself be

Of days when I sat in front of a canvas

With colours of my imagination flowing around me

I created strokes; thick, thin, rough, smooth

I grew within the spaces in front of me

A sunny yellow adjacent to a sky blue

As I feel the sun, the clouds, the rain and the thunder within me

---

But all it comes back to is this;

I exist, I am alive

I feel the life pulsing

In the air, the soil,

As I watch my roots take place

and the fruits of my labour float away

Extending my visions for all to see

My mark carved deep in this earthly ground beneath

As the whispers grow into a melody

“We exist, We’re alive.”

Seeping in with the sounds

A feeling of belonging

This time blooming intrinsically