Amrita Ghosh posted: " In remembrance of the Tabebuia flowers all over my beloved Bangalore, the not so garden city anymore. Sometimes home is a placeYou either no longer recognize,Or you miss it so muchThat it is etched in your soul. The bougainvillea waits for her smil" The Amrita Connection
In remembrance of the Tabebuia flowers all over my beloved Bangalore, the not so garden city anymore.
Sometimes home is a place You either no longer recognize, Or you miss it so much That it is etched in your soul.
The bougainvillea waits for her smile. The insistent rains have washed the dust Away from their paper like folds.
She imagines the soft scent of the Persian roses In full bloom in her garden, How she could smell the Jasmine from the stairs As if in anticipation of the secret little Paradise That the house harboured on the terrace.
Almost immediately she is transported To the place she misses the most.
The vegetables weigh heavy On the branches and deep in the soil. No one picks them anymore for making Spicy curries as comfort from the rains.
The Lillies in all their varieties throw away Their beauty to passing sunbirds and hungry monkeys.
The Rangoon creeper that she had planted In memory of her grandfather's house Now graces her own.
But, it has become equally desolate, Alone and grieving with the promise of living Snatched away from it by its inhabitants.
Standing on foreign soil today somewhere A woman aches to be back in her house, A shelter that often cradled her From the unavoidable storms of life.
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