Whole and Complete
Sometimes my heart floats along the clouds
drowning in rains and frightened by thunderstorms.
Like wet spells of storm strewn over a youthful summer,
it dwells in a slump, awaiting the sun.
These times when my heart beats a little slower
and my soul is disillusioned from home
I find home, in bits and pieces,
in the black coffee sliding down my throat, refreshingly,
like the first drop of water quenching a prolonged thirst.
I find home, in bits and pieces,
in known streets below my balcony—
I glare at every evening—
bustling with life of unknown figures
walking, smiling, scurrying, laughing,
fuelling curiosity in me to chase new tales.
I find home, in bits and pieces,
in the way my favourite singer’s voice
swims into my ear as a calm wave closes over the shore,
tranquillising me from head to toe
like a mother’s lullabies soothing an infant’s wails.
I find home, in bits and pieces,
in the teaspoons of care Ma mixes in the glass of chocolate milk
she makes me drink every night for a sound slumber.
I find it in the way words curved in ink
understand me more than I ever could.
I find home, whole and complete,
in the way these things
liberate me from the fright of thunderstorms;
in the way they
make me
the girl I often lose touch of
but find again
in the heart that choruses with the sky
and the soul that lives in the sun’s light.
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