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Crowded street, twinkling lights
Happy dogs sleeping on streets wide
Dingy lanes, stuffed rickshaw
Outbursts of anger, ensuing in fights
Oh the chaos everywhere, and so is the glee
Tiny pieces of my home
That’s what I miss, you see.
That slight bent of the river
December mornings giving me a shiver
A Loud thunk of an evening temple gong
A burly communist walking amidst believers
Oh the music everywhere immersing me
So many random slices of my home
That’s what I miss terribly, you see.
The unmissable aroma of fresh, crisp kochuri,
Hot tea and loud chatter of politics in the air
Young footballer walking home in a Brazil jersey
Hopeful men talking of class and divide sans a care
Oh the dare everywhere, in all corners I see
That fearless abandon of my home
That’s what I miss awfully, you see.
But here’s the truth
Don’t think I’m all that pious or pure at heart
Took me years and years to love these parts
Lanes that I couldn’t then wait to escape
Paved the way today for me to boldly chart
Finally, I understand what truly sets me free,
Embracing it all, petals, buds, and the thorns
Grounded in loving truth is all I hope to be.
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