there's nothing more provocative
than a societal chain, dripping
with the grease of ignorance and
prejudice, gripping you by the
neck and whispering in your innocent
ears, "you're not going anywhere,
young boy. not on my watch."
i'm not homeless, dear wide eyes.
believe me when i say that
you and i have very different
definitions of home.
for me, my lost meander is home.
the wet ground that smells of
freedom that my naked feet makes
love to, is my home.
do not think of me as unmarried,
dear ignorant commonality.
it's just that, i take the delight
in marrying the Sun's horizon
and the lustful universe,
merely to strip its clothing and
embrace its true significance.
let me let you in on an electrifying
secret.
i'm homesick. i've been homesick
ever since i planned to pack my
bag with ideologies of a vagabond.
but this isn't your everyday
homesickness. this is my drive.
it's a sickness louder than winter.
it is a great affair of feeling
homesick for places i have
never had the absolute honour of discerning.