Coming Home

Coming home is a warm rhapsody;
A little more close to our source --
Falling off of our armored coat
Then opening up a little blue door.
Dishes rattling a slow burn
Every house has its own clock --
Ours a little chaotic peace
Or a peaceful chaos
We dub in oxymorons --
Strangers, mechanics, our
Own selves, little animals
A beaded bracelet of cosmos
In our own picky flavor
Their left opened door of waiting,
The sticky name plates,
A porcelain touch
The post man's knocking rhythm
Then looking out for
Monsoon --

The black waves and green droplets
A quiet snail on its way
Pebbles and muddy silence
Then, vapours of afternoon milieu
Confetti of shared intimacies
A saucy chatting between
Disbelief and dishevelled hairs,
News and non news
Turning the grief and unnamed ironies
Up the sledged surface --
Soon, a wondrous harmony
A cracked open in iced clippings
Pinned photos , dog eared page leaves
The epilogue is a little note
From 80's grandmother,
A jars of pickles and never knowing
What the butterflies sing.