Home

Home. 

~ Olosh Hridoy

Don’t go back home they’ll chop your fingers

Don’t go back home they’ll chop your limbs

For you are a heretic

You have done heresy, gone against the wind

You are a blot

 to the family line

Kill will they do

It is the right thing to do

It is their will

The will of the Gods

The will of family honour

Home is where the heart is

Don’t go home. 

The forest seems peaceful from the outside

But inside lies- 

Unspoken tumult. 

That house is not Shakuntala’s tapovan

Where the kind vulture-mother will feed you milk from her breast. 

Menaka is Shakuntala’s lawful mother

According to Biology

Even though abandoned, her custody lies with the celestial damsel

But 

The astrologer makes your destiny chart-

With time, date, place of birth;

The accident of birth 

Determines how the stars

And the celestial beings had conspired to

Chart your fortune, 

How the planets react is influenced

By that accident of birth. 

My paternal home had dug her nails onto my skin

And her long nails 

                 had left deep marks 

But now my skin, toned and plum

Has recovered. 

With fresh fruits of Spring squeezed all over. 

The marks you cannot see with bare eyes. 

Only my skeleton can tell you 

If you ask. 

I was born upside down:

Twisting and turning my destiny myself

Into a limitless abyss of Akash ganga.

Kali is my deity, she destroys time itself,

Controlling the wheel of time, 

And there emanates my audacity. 

Akash, is my best friend. 

He listens to me and exudes a golden retriever energy. 

My fortune is determined by my home, 

The wheel of time 

Is ongoing

And my home is too;

In a flux resides my home

And there I do. 

The constellations are changing their positions constantly

And so am I

We wear and change so many hats

In the marketplace of trading

My home is in a flux

Of the Milky Way

Unclear like the white while churning 

for butter

Or making lassi-

A convoluted and translucent white

The milky Way, 

Makes way 

For

My home.