coming back home

A safe haven to come back to, is it all that a home is supposed to be? Because, if that’s all there is to it, then it is just a physicality, mostly. The mirrors that make one comfortable to strip off all that the world has caked on, comfortable with oneself. The soft lights that bring forth all the laughter and frown lines and make you look deep and beautiful, because of the deviation  from perfection. The warmth of the bodies and energies that inhabit the same worlds and look out for you from the side & rear-view mirrors alongside driving on their disparate lanes. The open doors and breezy windows, where the curtains heave and sigh, diluting the raging storms from the outside and altering the sound bass to make it all seem serene. It is my womb, of myself, for myself, that shuts out the external and yet fortifies me enough to face yet another day.

And yet, I feel slightly bruised, a lump  starts to build in my throat. I try and push it back inside of me. My insides swell up. I am overwhelmed, bigger. The walls shrink in on me. I open the already ajar doors and windows..i let the outside world in, as in….and it all merges. The outside with the inside. The raging winds from inside of me, take wings and bring down the spattering rains. The lump in my throat dissolves as I feel the raindrops on my face, against my wet eyes.