Homeland.

Return is rejoiced
I look down from my ride,

To marks and blotches of a civilization, mine.

Trashcans and people many,

Some painted yellow black motors,

And pedestrians dotted.

The potholes like cake dishes

Full with muddy batter.

Waiting to be baked in the sun

A thrill I’m experiencing,

A longing to get trapped in the traffic below

To inherit a muddy stain or two

To smell the sea

And the muck too, inevitably.

In that foreign land

How happy I felt

When I said

I’m from Bombay.

I missed you home,
And now Ill merge in you.