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Nilanjana Biswas
·June 04, 2002·1 min read

Getting homesick. A longing, a yearning, a pain, a constant ache ...

I dream of home The rolling green hills The endless meadows Flash by As I stare ahead With unseeing eyes Sreapped to the "suicide seat" Of a green Vauxhall Strains of some unknown Rock group is an intrusion I dream of my concrete jungle Dust laden sofa Coffee-stained carpet Of Bryan Adams' "Only thing that looks good on me is you" Conversation is cacophony Small talk is an effort I am home Hot and humid Cursing the air conditioner the weather, the country, the government! The cold rain, sleet, snow Is not real Not even the temperature dial Showing -2 degrees C On the complicated dashboard Leafless trees Twigs outstretched Embracing the uniform grey skies I am home The relentless sun beating down Sweat poring down my face Scorched dust-covered leaves Parched earth I say it's all a blur I lie I remember each nuance Each scene, each thought In extreme exaggereated slow motion It is unreal Yet it is real I can smell home In a few hours I will be home

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