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Miles away lie my bed

With pillows my mother once made

Out of cotton balls, round and soft

The kind I can never find in my neighborhood malls.

Miles away lies the sound of my favorite song

Echoing in the long corridor

Surpassing the kitchen window

And whistling towards the rustling leaves of the old deodar trees

One that my father planted when I was young and free.

Miles away lies my home

With memories framed in the concrete floors

Captured in the worn-out doors

The kind I can never make in the skyscrapers of this age

I dream of going back

But with every dawn, the road disappears and

 I return into the arms of my mundane chores.