#indian writter

there is

that feeling of heaviness,

like drowing in a river of frustration.

but at some point,

right now,

doesn’t life seems to be on pause.

far from the hustle and bustle,

finding in old books smell, the little walks you are allowed to have, seeing birds flying out in the sky, in that sunray kissing the face and the moon giving us company at night,

some peace to your restlessness?

I remember, few days back, that smell of food hitting my sense, reminding me a specific restaurant we use to go with my mom back home. I then remembered, those other places we use to go with my friends, those moments. Then I felt missing all this, and again, remembered, that other feeling of emptiness that hunts me when I am in Paris. I have been thinking, since time is given to us, about it. How, back there, I will feel a hole again, the feeling of not belonging, of not being at the right place.

Thinking of what actually “Home” means. I heard sometimes, someone can provide you that feeling, just some place. Is it where you were born and live, where you have your routine. Is it where your loved ones are. I feel, home is here for me. It is familiar. Not being a total stranger to that land and these souls. My heart probably recognized it as Home even before having spent much time here. It is just where I feel whole, and complete. Home is just that.

What is happening to that world

and its people,

it just feels like

the pandora’s box got opened,

and all the world’s ills are spread out.

it feels like people got contaminated by fear and hatred.

what is the cure,

where is the light?

Montserrat, Spain. Jan 2020 | @miraakle_