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07 May 2015

A STRANGER AT HOME

Ten years ago I left home leaving behind everything dear to me. I spent three long years in a city and a life of struggle trying to secure a future for myself. Not a day passed without the hope or anticipated excitement of returning home to everything and everyone I ever cherished and love. When I finally came home with all the excitements held up deep inside for all those years, the home I long to come back was no longer the same. All the sweet memories are now mere memories of good old days. I found myself a stranger at home because "home sweet home" have become "home strange home".

The City of Indians


You make them grin, you're an idiot
You give them food, you're a fool
You give them love, you're in lust 
You give them shade, you're in shit
You're innocuous, they're poisonous
The paradoxical city of my country
The hunting ground of perverts
Neither of deers nor of wild boars
But for prey in human avataars
In slit eyes and in spiky hairs
In fair skins they'd often bare.
But all delhites aren't scavengers
There're others who care and dare
To keep Delhi the city of Indians
Embracing the northeast Indians
What Remains

What remains is the portrait
Of yesterday's careless vows
On the wall of shattered dreams 
Hung pieces of a broken heart

What remains is the echo
Of yesterday's careless words
On the mount of empty promises
Flows the river of forgotten tears

What remain are the memories
Of yesterday’s careless deeds
On the sandstones of myriad hopes
Surge the mighty waves of life

Note: The last stanza is added by Prof. B. Panda