Comatose Home

I don't feel like coming home.
Even though I thought "home"
Was never home without you and yet,
I don't feel like coming home
When there is so much doubt on change,
And there are new responsibilities to consider,
When secrets have been divulged without any care;
And it doesn't feel like home is with you.
It feels like home has been displaced,
It feels like home has disappeared into that space,
Between life and death, comatose;
Home has turned into something
That no longer exists,
Except in the dark recesses of my mind,
Where everyone else ceases to exist.

A need to stay

so I want to float dead, weightless infinite on a wasted green of a sea whose coast I've barely touched

and I want to look at an endless blue sky without a single silver lining or even a puff of white hope while black feathers and scrawny bodies hover around me hoping for a meal while a rough yellow mist comes flying from a distance

and I want to sit on a seat to nowhere with a new name, a new face with no plans and the liberty to be happy with an i-don't-know

and I want to sink into an eternal sleep to elsewhere where I'm a princess cutting up frozen enemies and then boiling their pieces in a kitchen fit for a pauper

and I want to be understood and not felt because I don't feel and I only think and this seems wrong but when right and wrong are so subjective I think feeling is a crime for which we pay a million times

and every time I feel to run and surround myself in a dream so I want to float dead, weightless infinite on a wasted green of a sea whose coast I've barely touched

and I want to look at an endless blue sky without a single silver lining or even a puff of white hope while black feathers and scrawny bodies hover around me hoping for a meal while a rough yellow mist comes flying from a distance

and I want to sit on a seat to nowhere with a new name, a new face with no plans and the liberty to be happy with an i-don't-know

and I want to sink into an eternal sleep to elsewhere where I'm a princess cutting up frozen enemies and then boiling their pieces in a kitchen fit for a pauper

and I want to be understood and not felt because I don't feel and I only think and this seems wrong but when right and wrong are so subjective I think feeling is a crime for which we pay a million times

and every time I feel like running and surrounding myself in a dream with no expectations, explanations or expenses of any kind where I am me in all my literal and metaphoric sense in all unfeeling warm understanding

remembering you makes me stay back in blessed pain -

blessed only because I see you twice a day

and my dreams seem like unnecessary spaces where my loneliness crowds in disguised as solitude

when all I want is to die to end an existence of hunger and what-ifs

yet I keep choosing to live and not merely exist

because the sight of you

twice a day

makes me think of butterflies, rainbows and afternoon rainstorms and of growing a tap root instead of runners

and not of -

infinite existence and survival for the sake of it -

clear blue skies of hungry dark spirits waiting to be fed -

a seat to nowhere and being without any strings attached -

or an eternal sleep with the magic in me pulsing through my hand as red and grey

you make me think of staying

Found

You call me crazy
And I do think I am,
Past tells me stay hazy
Not defined in your arms,
Mind calls me stupid
For being as I am,
Then you call me love
And heart says I can

Cross the plains,
The mountains and seas,
All the way to
Wherever you will be,
I might get lost
But I'll always find my way,
'Cause home is a person now
And not a place.

Home?

Drip drip drop.
Raindrops
Running down roofs,
Walls, hands, feet,
Leaves, trees,
Flowers in bright bloom.
A green too deep to break,
Sky dark grey
Streaked with white
Lightning.
White boats in little streams
Desperately making their way
To some unknown shores.
Smell of rain, fire and gasoline
It is all so well known.
It could be home.

Those empty words.

Every twist and turn of this road,
It devastates me. In every corner
I hope for something better,
Yet all that is found is travesty.
I thought the words meant
Something, that it had true
Meaning, yet I am proved to
Again and again, that these
Are empty words and could
Never mean a thing to me.

A Last Note.

Author:This is fictional. Read on.

Calm. Contemplating the afterlife was never so easy before. But I was never so close to it either. All has been done. Everything I wished to do. Ok, maybe there are still somethings left. But it's not that important.

I'm glad I never learnt to swim. I had wanted to, but never really got the chance. Now it's come in useful.

The sea looks so vast, so great, so magnificient, so cold, yet so welcoming. Every wave that laps at my feet is urging me forward. This is the time the tide is changing. The waves are slowly getting stronger.

I'm walking forward as I'm typing this. Imagine. A lone, petite figure. Loose, slightly wet hair well past the shoulders. Illuminated in the bright glow of the full moon in the night sky and the street-lights behind me. You can see my pale pink frock swaying slightly as I slowly creep forward in this windless night.

I'm pausing. Feeling. The sand between my toes. My grey and blue slippers were abandoned somewhere near a bench under a street-light. Along with my wallet. It doesn't have any money, don't worry. Just some ID cards. My driver's license and university ID. Oh, and my library cards. I broke my ATM card before leaving it all there.

So now no one has to worry about my account being ransacked by any chance. The sand is so carressing. So soft. Moving up and down my feet as the waves come and go.

I'm waist up in sea water now. Uff. A giant spray just sent saltwater and sand into my mouth. How disturbingly...peaceful. It's funny somehow. Yet so...nice.

More sprays. Soon my mobile will be under the sea with me. But I want one of you to read this.

To feel this.

The water encasing you. The sand moving away under your feet. The velvety night sky and the big fat moon. The smell of salt in the air. The sound of a single lone car as it speeds by homeward on the road. They don't realise the beauty they are missing. Or may be they do and that's why they're heading home.

Because I'm heading home too.

I'm 20years old and all I want now is "home". Someone to call my own, someone who would claim me as theirs too. Someone who won't forget me on the wayside or leave me behind without reason. I'm so homesick.

I'm so homesick that I can barely see clearly. The sea has always been there. Kadalamma. The mother sea. Ultimately, that's where life started. The cradle of life.

I'm going back to that cradle. To my mother. To where I might finally be a part of, where I might finally and truly belong.

I'm making my final step. Farewell.

Running Home

Running away everytime, she wasn‘t waiting or asking for someone or something to stop her. She wanted to know if there was anyone or any place she‘d miss enough to go back home to.