Home!

Home, is not where the heart is
It’s possibly somewhere,
where the soul is in sync with being and belonging.

Home, where the coffee is not a perfect brew
and has some extra sugar too
But tastes like an ocean in a desert.

Home, where I can smell ageing paper
and not be reminded of the books,

I need to read and the presentations I must make.

Home, where sleep comes naturally,
and does not wake me up, 

with nightmares leaving me smelly sweaty.

Home, where in my unkempt hair
and Un-ironed T-shirt

I feel my breath pass like breeze.

Home, not four walls and a mere ceiling.

The court of?

But my lord,
When you write the judgement
After listening to the versions
Of what you’ve heard and understood
Remember to note, what you felt.

My lord,
I recall requesting you
To make a footnote of my attempts
At trying to convince you
That each day I tried.

My lord,
There must be a record
Of my trying, my unbecoming
My abandoned belongings.
Somewhere in your fancy words
My trivial anxieties should be noted.

My lord,
It should be documented,
How each day I tried to combat
Those what must have
Felt like trivial anxieties and insecurities
As world wars.

My lord,
There should be an evidence
Of my trying, failing, falling.
There should be a proof
That on the days I managed
To conquer the soul
I lost to my heart.

My lord,
Whether in life or in death
There should be a part
Which reeks of me
And is as strong
As some hundred dragons strength
As magical as unicorn fart
And as gorgeous as a blooming flower.