The Homecoming That Isn’t

The Homecoming That Isn’t

The shy new bride,
Fresh from monsoon’s embrace,
Decks herself in a festive hue,
And waits!

That scent,
That night-blooms ooze,
Wafts across the oceans,
And finds me in this foreign land.
A tease!

The leaves of fall,
Murmur jargon, arcane,
But the message I catch is clear-
“Come Home!”

They say,
It’s the season-
When the daughters come home,
And the poor forgets misery,
And dance!

I thwart their calls,
For I’m chained by this grind.
I sigh, and bid my home-bound train


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