My home.0

You think you really want a flight booked for a trip
Travel with me through my villages;
Its a big world to know.
The Twelve rupee ticket and an open eye is all you need.
As excited as to travel across the seas.
On a Sunday morning journey;
Come stride through my villages;
The beauty around me, makes me insane.
The sight and the touch of the
yellow flowers that showers around me.

Along the hilly and wavy roads.

Those green rubber trees garlanding those slopes

Those jack fruits hanging low and high

Those mango flowers;

These concreted houses like big brothers standing high
And also those small asbestos sheets; standing low


Besides like a little sister.
Those jungle flames smiling in oranges; reds and yellows.

And few other colors brightly in purple;pinks and blues;
For which am shameful that I am ignorant of knowing them by names.
This is my small, beautiful world.
The world I belong.
Names of places I do not know;
That church standing high and its angels;

This temple standing wide and its smells and chants;

The mosques in between, all belongs to me;

And I belong to them.
I feel the clear sky.
The warmth of the Sun.
The hear the flying crows and singing cuckoos.

The tapioca fields; the banana plantations.


And this motherhood sitting next to me
Carefully deporting me while I sit relaxed.
In that blue and white lovely bus of this sweet
God's own country.