Dichotomy

I
It took –
one dead rat, a tree full of cawing birds,
roaring ambulances at 3 AM, kids playing at 5 PM;

aazaans at 6, mata ki aartis at 8,
dense air and light conversations
to find my home.

II
Here, the floor is swept clean of stagnating routine,
the fan scatters the distant voices from another home,
and the windows drip emotions the curtains can’t curtail;

radiowaves eat away at the books, leaving behind words to chew on
shadows paint the walls in dark long strokes,
plugging all of the cracks left behind by it’s previous occupant.