As much as I love the land that I have lived in for almost my entire life, come June and l long for something more. A longing that reminds me that no matter where I go and how happy I am, I cannot be at ease unless I return. As the countdown to the holidays begin, my heart can wait no more and my mind is no more here…it’s reached it’s destination long before me.
A expatriate’s or an immigrant’s life is like that of a migratory bird’s. There’s nothing like going back home, even if it’s just once in a while. No journey’s complete if the roads don’t finally lead back to where one comes from.
Do let me know if you can relate to this poem.
The middle of June,
A summer’s day,
The wind blows,
An uncommon scent…
A sweet, fresh, reminiscent tang
Of grazing cows, fresh grass and moist air
A look around brings me back
Date palms, wild grass and the morning mist
I shrug it off , around the corner, another whiff
Of burning embers lit, to warm a cauldron
I smell the dried leaves in a heap being seared
The pavement’s clear, a car hoots by, no wood, no smoke
A broken reverie-
The sun’s blazing, the sand’s glistening, the shrubs interspersing
And my heart yearns- for rain drops on my face, for dripping green leaf blades
The laughter around the table, the gathering on the porch, the sound of temple bells
I feel a longing, my mind’s playing games, the time has come
Time to return.
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