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.