just the other day
my classmates were joking around
asking me "where do you live?"
when one of them said "jaante ho yeh sabse bada dukh h, tum bade maja lelo, lekin sabse bada dukh h"
(rough translation: you know this is the greatest sadness, no matter how much we make fun, this is the greatest sadness)
and he's right
he's right because few will live through
the identity crisis this brings
when every two years the boxes come out
and in goes almost everything.
he's right because when i think of home,
the ink runs out before i use the pen
because the only constant is change,
and its just a matter of when.
he's right because my family has tried,
in their own innocent ways, to personify a home,
but then why is it difficult for me
to now recognise warmth in flesh and bone.
he's right because my best friends' faces
have now been memorised as pixels,
and if we had stayed in the same place
maybe it wouldve been easier than whatever this is.
he's right because home is where the heart is,
but how can my home be here,
when my heart is in a different geographic coordinate,
when i have to wait months, if not years, (only for now hopefully)
for it to be near.
he's right because yes, i tried building
a home in myself, brick by brick
but i share it with my mind,
abuse had never been so fiercely domestic.
he's right because at the end of the road
nobody knows what lies after
the uncertainty fuels my anxious
my mind's breathing becoming faster.
he's right because maybe you see
your home in the earth or the flames
but since when have guests tucked you into your own bed
preaching about how your life wasn't in vain.
he's right, he's right, he's right.
i hate to admit it, but yes, he's right.
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