If I stare long enough at

the distant sea,

perhaps I will see home.

Home, a four letter word,

containing within its walls

a library of love.

But wait:

wait is a four letter word too.

Each letter slowly falls into my

lap, like a miserly coin.

The weight of wait,

the heaviest of them all,

an invisible marauder

enveloping you in its

thick cloak.

Drooping shoulders,

curving spine,

tired bones,

I wait and wait

nonetheless.

Some day, surely,

the burden will lift

and I,

weightless,

waitless,

will take flight in

clear air.

(This write up has been sent to The Lede by Priyanka Sacheti, a writer based in Bengaluru. All opinions are the author's alone and not necessarily that of The Lede's.)