Ama

 

Airports.

I still remember, hopping off the plane and running towards you-

As you envelop me into your arms and hold me against your chest.

That jasmine musk you always wore, would waft in and around me

And I would think maybe, just maybe, this is what home feels like.

 

Summer.

Seated side by side on a straw woven bed, we would shell rice.

Grains in all shades of brown would peek out among the white ones-

Your bespectacled eyes would scrutinise every bit,

And my reckless self would chuck them all out every time.

 

Stars.

The languid Hyderabadi summers would beckon us outdoors.

Huddled together we would gaze at the sky-

For the longest hours, retelling old legends,

And epic tales of the better days.

 

Pink.

I still remember seeing your unmoving figure.

Serene and smiling, your face was cast in the most ethereal glow.

You were wrapped up in sheets of crinkled cotton-white,

I clutched your warm hands for the last time.

And in that moment, I really knew what home felt like.

 

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