By the window side, I stood -
Gazing at the pouring rain ;
Adult mind caged inside that of a child,
Mingling thoughts meeting those of the busy streets.

The rain drops trace down the window pane,
The silence of the room kills me from within;
With sheer pain, I look at the tapestry-
It reminds me of the night, when it all began.

At the airport, the breeze blew,
Winter night, with less lonely crowds:
Proceeding towards the terminal, I recalled,
How I grew up in the heart of a little city -
With an enormous heritage -
But, on this day, I'm deserted in a stranger's paradise.

Plugging in the earphones, I play Capaldi -
Staring at the starry sky -
That night,
won't ever leave me again.
When I left it all behind, my soul, my trust and my home.

I'll fade away, the crowd will be unburdened.
I've lived here as a hollow man,
Through hardships, I've mended myself -
But, nothing ever makes me feel like the way, Calcutta did.

I'll unbundle my ideas,
The clouds accumulate right outside the window -
Tears appear in my eyes, an alien locked inside this glass house.

The photo frames are broken,
The cigarette doesn't burn when I try lighting it.
On the rocking chair, my hand typed letters are scattered -
Whilst, the typewriter in the corner of the room, weeps all the day.

On the street of this foreigner's land,
I heard a man speak of his home in a distant land too,
He spoke so slow, I memorised all his words,
Then, I fell in love and I broke away with a crack in my ribs.
Now, I regret all my mistakes,
The rain slows down, the wind blows with a faster pace,
The melancholy of the weather just tells me -
I should run back home to feel my true self coming alive.

 
                           - Anurima Mukherjee

P.S. - This is a work of nostalgia and whilst writing this, there was something that was tried to be conveyed. Nothing lasts, all that matters is you, for we'll fade away someday, as ashes or in the soil beneath the earth.