Ah,Those Roots

Every home coming is a nomad's offerings for forgiveness,

A silent prayer,

An apology for neglecting the roots, those have borne him.

Two lovely yet lonely souls, leaning on each other

Still, on their own worlds,

Slowly move around and do chores which may 

Soothe the wanderer and make him stay awhile.

While one dusts up those books he himself has paid for

The other rakes up the old CDs 

She once despised for the violent and jarring crescendos.

Little does she know

That he has come a full circle and now has no ears for them

And grown weary of those li'l feel good titles,

Papa used to bring home.

Here everything stays still.

The lady in the house fondly referred to as ant

Still keeps the dog eared jottings sent by her dearies

Its her way of saying

That we are with her always.

She says, our entire growing phase is there

Right in front of her,  like it has happened just yesterday.

The last time she was home, my sister

Fished out a handbook, mom still keeps and 

Was smiling through tears

While telling me of some notes she had stumbled on.

Looking back, now I wonder,

Must be on her wedding eve that

We have last cried together like that

And yet felt so happy!