enaku veetuku ponum

On the isle of foreign soil,

drunk, dry and confused by mirages and snowfall, 

nothing smells of home, 

neither the chicken nor the curry nothing smells like home. 

On the miniscule of a second, 

pushed and pulled by a million memories, 

I don't know where to start,

neither the incense nor the silence fill my empty nights. 

On the virtual reality of skype
felt and unfelt
I am longing for am embrace
that smell's like my mother's jasmine.

On the flight back home,
cuddled and jetlagged,
I only wish to stay back,
and stop saying "Hey its been a year, how are you?"
and start saying "How was the movie yesterday?"

Let the flower feel the breeze

Like a flower that cannot feel the breeze,
her heart was filled in a vaccum.
It couldn't feel any more the turbulent flow of life,
She stopped and looked,
Everything was a painting that she couldn't understand,
Everything had an aroma that she didn't desire,
Life was perfect for her, So would everyone say,
What would they know?
They just look at the mirror and reflect what they think,
have they gotten in it to know its made of grains of sharp glasses,
If they did and break it,
the vaccum would float away,
and
hey,
I see the flower feel the breeze.

Note: depression is a disease, yes if fellow people have no compassion. you can be a cure too.