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by

Soumya Vats

If I should ever leave home, Remind me to forget something behind- A piece of my childhood Plays hide and seek In the folds of curtains, That now hold traces Of eyes shrouded in fabric, Glancing at the world passing by On the other side.


The city on my passport, A frantic blur Of unknown alleyways, I have long since ceased to discover. It will acknowledge One less pair of feet, That wandered looking for purpose Through its streets, But then found it Somewhere else.


An empty room in the house, The wooden furniture, A jungle of memory corpses, That were buried in cardboard boxes And packed away. You can paint over The blue on the walls. Seal all cracks that may hide Traces of my past. Replace the pictures In their frames. And hope that pixels make moments last longer.


Soon, there will be new places, With walls white, And beds never slept in, Cupboards that will yearn for artifacts, But I’ll forget something behind Before learning to return.


Home is an umbilical cord; It nestles into me And settles into crevices of private thought. I’ll come back a newborn Then, hold me close And coo sleep into my ears For home is not a continent, But you.

Soumya is a third-year Literature student at Hansraj College, University of Delhi. With an appetite for anecdotes and coffee, she has worked briefly in Media and Journalism. When not obsessing over movie screenings or stressing over multiple deadlines, she can be found dramatically narrating stories to anyone who would lend an ear. She is currently grasping at her remaining college life to collect sufficient evidence against Bollywood’s deceptive portrayal of our educational institutions to someday prevent future generations from going through disappointment similar to hers.

Author, Poet, Writer, American, Indian Australian writers
Soumya Vats
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