randomized

Have you lived in the country, brother Dew you go forth and try it sometime The days break early there,  with the fresh dew glistening atop You can find some ponds still clean, where the sun makes the water gleam The alleyways feel soft and spongy,  like a kneaded dough in brown The nights show you what black is, and you can catch the  tiniest tinkles in the sky And when it rains, oh, and when it rains there is only wonder in your eyes Colors How the colours come out of those boring things and how everything comes so alive You hear the songs of the birds and quiet happiness of your friends in the farm You smell the heavens on earth,  and feel your heart sing along The life is simple there, dear brother and the afternoons are long You will want to sit under a tree, once in a while and introspect on this life Who knows, you might become a poet even and move there with your wife

Today is a full month since I left my home and my home. It is a strange place that I am in. Different yet not so different. I don't know what it is to be like outside your home. I didn't know. I still don't. I am learning homesickness; it is all coming very slow is what I feel. I am not sad like how people are when they leave home for the first time. I am in fact very happy; I am staying in my aunt's home. It feels just like my home, almost. I feel strange sometimes though. It feels like I would roll my always-ready bag to the ariport in a couple of days and go back home. And carry some tales with me about the vacation I had. I use 'home' to refer to my country too, in some of these sentences; specially my city, Delhi. I am in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia right now. I boarded a plane for the first time in my memory, that night. I say 'in my memory' because it wasn't technically the first time but rather practically the first time. After all, when y...