Fireflies

Returning home after a long time is one of the best feelings in the world. No matter what the place, a home is a home. We think every time we return to the very same place but this assertion is quite wrong. Every time you return, you see a different place. No, the place is the same, what has changed is the way of looking at it. What has changed is you. Most certainly drawing away from things brings you closer to them.  Every time you visit your house after a long time, you have  new perception, a whole new take all for yourself and it is so beautiful, so overwhelming. And the best part is, there is only improvement - no degradation.

 

 

Fireflies

 

Are those fireflies?

Etched above, in the dark sky?

Sky as dark as lies,

Lies pertaining to the scattered fireflies.

 

A numb sensation runs through my body,

As I indifferently stare at the lights,

Lights above the horizon- at greater heights,

Heights not many would stand to fight!

 

    So I dash into the forest ahead,

    To reach up to the secret,

    A secret that is best met,

    Best met when one tries to seek it.

 

The breeze is cold,

Fellow passengers tighten their coats,

Coats that I doth not,

Doth open arms wide embracing the breeze's growth.

 

The cold wind ignites a spark,

Something I thought was long lost,

Lost in madness - paying the cost,

Cost of an uncanny host.

 

Just as I thought the melody was gone,

It from the singularity bloom'd.

Bloomed- with ecstasy my heart groom'd,

Groomed to wash away the sadness in fumes.

 

But are those really fireflies?

In a place so different.

Different? No, I'm the one that is different.

Own a different place than yesterday in the perception current.

 

I see the forest; I see a gorge.

That drains away the irksome:

Irksome norms that do come,

Come as the debacle for foundations firm.

 

Of course there's a special place for the stars,

Fireflies far away from us,

Seen most from the crust,

Crust perhaps holding fireflies in a background of dust.

 

It is a feeling, above all the rest;

Realising how unique you are in a homogeneous crowd.

A crowd that is desperate to drown,

Drown in a flood they are to bring about.

 

Home is a feeling, not a place.

Sure it is.

A feeling with memories greased

Greased by a place - home - as it is.

 

But are they fireflies or only blotches of light?

I drop down to hear a voice:

"Nani, ai pugyo timi." (So, you have reached son)

From an old man who seldom met me,

And the short conversation enlightened me:

Taught me a lesson, an answer to my question;

No they aren't just lights but fireflies - beautiful fireflies.

And I am lucky to have grown up amongst them.