Sometimes I think of kheer, the rice pudding and its coconut richness melting in my mouth at Kothri
Sometimes I think of a yellow saree clad woman with a toothless smile
Sometimes I think of a pond in a barren land
Sometimes I think of home.
Sometimes I think of what home is
In this homeless land without no hope
Sometimes I think of what hope is
And I wonder if humans need tangibility
I wonder if definitions define us
If our scope is limited to the science and fiction of mind,
If we will ever move beyond
On nights like these I think of my mother’s flu inflected voice croaking through the phone
And I sit inside and hear the yelps of my intoxicated peers
I wonder how two worlds can coexist
If a person is capable of holding more than one land within his soul
I wonder if home means more than India and my mother’s scent to me
I wonder if America will ever mean more than just identity to me.
On nights like these I wonder if I will ever discover home
And I realize some questions are best understood lived.
I am living home, in this homeless country,
With a soul in this godless place
I am living in two worlds at once
And neither at the same time
I wonder if I will ever be the same again.