My Home

The whimsical moon shot past me like an arrow, in a flux I saw it as a mirror revealing myself to me. My home. I love sitting here in the windy balcony and flying in the night sky. This is my home in Delhi, Delhi away from Delhi, my dream home the home of my long-cherished desires at the foot of the hillock flowers all over. Here I am given more than I could ask for. Peacocks dance to the tune of the wild rain camels graze, birds of hue sing lullabies to my tired soul. My little son plays around runs like the wind on the sloppy road, the country road, a feast to my eyes; lying on my bed I watch him with flower-like kids flying audible kisses from there at me I hum a tune to myself in my velvety voice keeping a book close to the chest. The pretty dappled trouts with joyful haste move in the aquarium like the brook. This was a present to my son on his award of a medal – he wants trouts for he loves to see them moving patient, for not being noisey. I arrange my home with a careless care – nightlong in winter, I hear the silence silently here. In full moon nights the nightingales sing frantically in summer. The passionate rain with its vibrations tinkle my inner self, here. I discover a newer world close to nature, close to a power, unknown, and rediscover myself. I cry no more my world is wet enough here my heart is grilled with green moss I have transfigured myself, the base of my harmony is my loneliness. I have just started to count life beneath my fingertips.