By Soumee Bhaumik
I come from one world to another
And I hold its soil in my palm.
Does it feel like home?
I'm not sure what home is supposed to feel like.
Who do I call home?
The land where I took my first steps on,
Or the land I finally stepped into?
When I see poets boasting about their motherland,
Which land do I get to call my mother?
I reside in between the pages,
At the junction of
Two collections of souls.
I stand in the middle,
Trying to find the fine line.
I'll give one land my morning,
And the other my noon;
But I'll keep the nights for myself
And I'll spend them counting the stars
On both sides.
Neither shine bright.
I watch the sky-
Just one stay,
And I watch the stars mocking
The ground beneath them,
A ground broken into clusters.
If the stars know their way home,
Why don't I?
I fumble ten times
Trying to write my name
And on my eleventh try,
I succumb to one
And betray the other.
But the other doesn't betray me when I write my name,
She's there still,
In the crookedness of my handwriting
And she's there in my morning tea.
I never really escape
Even though the door has always.
Been left open;
So I scrape off the dirt from my shoes.
And I find it's always been the same soil.
The stars in the sky laugh while the stars on the ground dim.
I circle my name in honey and dust,
Trying to see which belongs to me
But the corners take the dust,
And the bees the honey.
I'm left in the middle
With nothing in my palm.
On either sides,
I see my past and my future;
So with two fists I grab chunks of soil
And craft a mud man.
He looks at my flesh,
I look at his birthmark
And as a flower blooms on his back,
We know we've found our present.
Now I look up at the sky,
And I smile back at the stars.
It takes time to understand the inner meaning but really impressive & encouraging. Best wishes.
Itβs so nice ππ