A reader who is stuck in California along with her husband, longs to come home
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.)
