Long Way from Home

  • Krishna J. Nair, II B.A. English

 

On Sundays like these, I remember 
A grumpy young man sleeping
On a wooden swing, swaying slowly.
Snoring in perfect rhythm,
Coughing occasionally.
His pot-belly rising up and down
As each breath flows in ease.
On Sundays like these, I remember
Eating home-made meals in silence
While he sways, sleeping
And the sound of the metal bars ringing.
Sharp at 3PM he rises, grunting and
Mumbling and cussing the time.
He sleeps for another five, and rises
Like a horse, ready for his race.
On Sundays like these, I remember going
To the temple after six.
The grumpy young man behind the wheels
The grumpy young child with the beats.
On Sundays like these, I remember
The waves crashing the shore,
Amma’s soft toes on the sand.
The grumpy young man, my Appa,
With his third chai and snack in his hand.
On Sundays like these I remember,
My better half hunting for restaurants.
For dinner, she is served on Sundays
Where they welcome us as the guests.
On Sundays like these now, here I am
Walking streets in silence, longing
For the ring of the bell, the rhythmic snore,
The uninterrupted beats and the shore.
On Sundays like these now, I long
For a place I call home,
Where my heart and my loved ones belong. 

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