It seems this new house has always been here,
this loose soil, ready for me,
some visitors carrying souvenirs,
like good friends opening their soft arms,
waiting since a long time.
Perhaps I should now sow my routine here,
be patient, for it will take
a few summer noons to learn
the way from old fort to new palace.
Then there are other things to know
before taking roots—
silliness on roads, and foods—
rich, exquisite, home-grown,
how the sun sizzles in these parts
and the rain, scarce, throws itself
on the roofs.
And how evenings fade with songs
of home-returners.
Perhaps I should pray silently,
then out loud,
to be one among them
next summer.
This poem is after Tishani Doshi’s ‘Visiting My Parents in Summer’.
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Love your poem.
Leaving the house where I live for some new experience seems less and less likely. I know my husband couldn’t bear to.
For centuries, others who’ve lived here have helped to wear hollows in the stone floors, at the threshold of each room. Not posh at all, just a home for ordinary people.
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I love your poem!!
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I like how you’ve portrayed that the idea of home when you move around a lot is just wishing for a few summers planted in the same spot. The accompanying pictures and video add an extra charm to the poem! Loved reading another of your poem after a long time, Sonia!
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