My home is here

Two countries divided

I know who I am

I know not my house anymore.

What is different anyway?

We are the same in flesh and blood

I know who I am

I know not my house anymore.

Could I wipe the smell of fear?

My body seems to have forgotten its own.

My house is where I am

I know not my home anymore.

* In difficult times, call it race, caste or any kind of inhumanity, often people are filled with insecurities about not only their “home” but also their “existence’. My thoughts.

2020, Deeya Nambiar