As much as I love the land that I have lived in for almost my entire life, come June and l long for something more. A longing that reminds me that no matter where I go and how happy I am, I cannot be at ease unless I return. As the countdown to the holidays begin, my heart can wait no more and my mind is no more here…it’s reached it’s destination long before me.

A expatriate’s or an immigrant’s life is like that of a migratory bird’s. There’s nothing like going back home, even if it’s just once in a while. No journey’s complete if the roads don’t finally lead back to where one comes from.

Do let me know if you can relate to this poem.

The middle of June,

A summer’s day,

The wind blows,

An uncommon scent…

A sweet, fresh, reminiscent tang

Of grazing cows, fresh grass and moist air

A look around brings me back

Date palms, wild grass and the morning mist

I shrug it off , around the corner, another whiff

Of burning embers lit, to warm a cauldron

I smell the dried leaves in a heap being seared

The pavement’s clear, a car hoots by, no wood, no smoke

A broken reverie-

The sun’s blazing, the sand’s glistening, the shrubs interspersing

And my heart yearns- for rain drops on my face, for dripping green leaf blades

The laughter around the table, the gathering on the porch, the sound of temple bells

I feel a longing, my mind’s playing games, the time has come

Time to return.

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