Grown Up

The initial euphoria

Lasted all of

4 weeks, 6 days

And 12 minutes.

It lasted

Through my unpacking

And my dusting

And my arranging

.

It was great!
I could cook up gourmet storms,

Clean to a fault,

Decorate with colours unheard of

Shop indulgently,

(Drink even more so)

Trawl the web

Stay in bed

Have Sitcom marathons

 Laugh at jokes –

All in the solitude

Of my Adulthood.

It lasted

Till I took a breath.

And then it wasn’t the same

Any more

Home was

Waking up to the smell of breakfast.

Clothes that smell like Surf Exel.

Having to fight for the remote.

Never finding the clothes you wanted

Because your sister had them.

Having a gaggle of uninvited people

Drop in for chai-biscuit.

Not having to worry

about what to make for dinner

or whether there was enough pasta for two.

Heat and humidity and afternoon naps.

Always having something to do Friday evenings.

Home was

The smell of my mother’s hug –

 Soap, spices and Davidoff.

The sound of my sister’s guffaw

Echoing off the walls.

This?

This isn’t home,

This is my adulthood.

Seasons

A blush blooms,

Alongside the first

spring romance.

The radiance of a hot love,

Like a summer.

Tears fall -

Autumn leaves,

Monsoon rains.

The winds of crumbling dreams

blow bitter -

A harsh winter

Words

I could, if I wanted, write you a song,

full of words that inspired love,

 in Delilah, Anne and Cecilia,

and millions across the world.

If could, if I wanted, write you a story,

full of romance and clichés

and put the epics that star

Romeo, Majnu and Jack to shame.

I could, if I tried, paint you something,

fill it with all the colours

that make up our love.

I could, if I tried a little harder,

sing you a song,

stealing words and emotion

from Clapton, Rafi, Lennon.

I could, if I tried really hard

tell you exactly how I feel

about you

but it would test my patience

and not convey very much.

So I’ll tell you instead,

that the way you make me feel inside…

it feels like…

hot chocolate on a rainy day

my favourite quilt

watching bubbles float in the sunshine

wind in my hair, sand under my toes

and waves at my feet

yellowing books with dog-ears

the smell of baking

candy-colour tongues

and roller-coaster rides.

You make me feel

like me.

I have a Dream

I have a dream;

to wake up someday

in a cottage far away,

tucked into a corner of a mountainside

surrounded by trees,

valleys and peaks.

To listen to the strains

of red breasted robins

singing harmony to

Tchaikovsky’s Spring Interlude.

To sit in a chair,

sipping tea

as white clouds

drift and swirl

forming a tendrilly cap

keeping my wispy thoughts

safe.

I have a dream;

to wake up someday

in a shack on a beach

and feel my hearbeat

echo the crash

of waves on the shore.

To listen,

as the wind blows a raga

that would send

Chaurasia into raptures.

To watch,

as sunbeams

paint a Warhol -esque

masterpiece on the water.

And inhale the scent

of salt and the sea

that settles in my soul.

But for now

I have to be content,

with waking up

to the smell

of spent fuel,

roadside garbage

AC air

 and dreams.

And strain

to hear my thoughts

or my heart

over the sound of the phone,

the traffic and

downstairs aunty’s TV.

And leave half-drunk tea

to form brown rings

inside my cup.

and watch as the plants

on the window sill,

fade slowly,

like my dreams.