Taking a call
There is this place.
I want to go.
Go to once again
Live a couple of years
Before this life ends.
My soul sullenly yearns
To fly over there. Why?
My feet itch
To walk that soil. Why?
I reckon
That land beckons.
The air over there
My lungs are raring to fill up with.
Breathe it.
Hot, humid, muggy. No matter.
Notwithstanding the potholes
Ignoring the banter.
Overlooking that sourness.
That excessive familiarity.
What's happened suddenly?
I know not myself !my friend.
As if a closed door is now ajar.
Seems like a scene from previous birth.
Those sights long forgotten
Coerce me to revisit.
Those lanes dwell on my eyes.
Faces of friends have not left my beats since.
The taste, the smells, the chitter-chatter
Welcoming markets,
Treating streets,
The camaraderie of town.
So very very beautiful.
Oh! Why did I leave?
The coming out was difficult,
And going back is even more.
But the land calls
And my soul records.
Must be some debt
By grain of salt.
Pending, left behind.
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