Coastward bound.

Im coastward-bound again,next wednesday.
I'll smell the peculiar saltiness of Eliot's Beach again,which reminded me of sweet corn chicken soup when I was a 5 year old on the seaside roller skating rink.
I'll go to Kilpauk and reside there,my first time in twenty years.
I'll gasp and make fisheyes at myself in the auto rear view mirror as usual,because Im two decades old and still consider it twenty years born in that not-so-little burning sandy signboard-cloistered city of Madras.

"I grow old,I grow old ,
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled."

In between,I'll continue to develop on this wanderlust that seeks respite in the passages of my bloodstream and dream of the Orient,cherry cheesecake,blue bath tubs, tirupathi laddoos that I can never have,and that cold crimson-tiled house with one markedly empty,suddenly devoid little upstairs room.

I'll also say to myself:"Sing a song of happiness"

Of loss and love and learning to fly,of writing words that have a life of their own and spring across the page like jackrabbits.