by Anupam Patra
Wasn’t it
on a long-ago summer day,
when your folly for freedom
cast you away?
ever since,
you’ve wallowed
in a sea of distractions,
and strange loyalties
maybe today,
your paradise of compulsions
walks you
into the dawn of wisdom;
packing for an early train
you perhaps discover
that we only truly belong
in the stories we leave behind
in our homes;
not in snapshots of success
or a million accolades
perhaps you get today,
that the flowers you come from
shall become
petals in wind,
but their sanctuary of love
shall remain
for your eternal reaping
there are things
one only understands
at a certain time
your home may not have been
a sunrise sublime
but its darkness
was what your stars needed to shine
it is in the asylum our folks built
by bricks of tolerance
where we found
our lifelong shield
their forgiving arms –
were oars of patience
ferrying us through
rivers of trial
perhaps you long for their voices
when a lonely evening snubs your soul
or solitude trembles
your resolve
I say this because
last night
I saw your tears stain
the leather of your luggage
and by the time you dissolved
your absent heart
in a late-night balcony smoke
you’d finally learnt,
not all journeys of return
take us home
