Homecoming...

Here, leaning on a wall of hope
the life rushes back in a blurry vision.

Outside the eve is full of life
but my aesthetics are inert,
lying dormant, deep inside,
waiting to burst into dread.
There, in sun’s golden spray
a bird seems too occupied
collecting fresh straw.
I see his prophetic smile;
his newborn son’s homecoming.

An old black and white picture
bursts over my drooping eyes -
a home built on hard work
and that he cemented in love.
A kiss to his son’s forehead,
the Joyous warmth of welcome
never spoilt by drunken joy -
the heritage I claim as mine.

The throes of waiting
for even a single strand of hope.
I’m the father now
listening to your last cries - “Home”.
Gazing down into those half-closed yellow eyes
I wished to be dumb.
Biting down, I touched water upon your lips
which was dry for mother’s breast.

Home is far, he knows,
tears too, I know,
but, I promise you, we’ll sleep once there.
Spine-freeze, even after I’m home,
watching you come in tranquility
of respect and an equanimity.

Broken and wedged between
two big shards of a short life. Me.