Thursday, August 30, 2007


Their is a place,
Where days are painted in bliss,
And laughters ring,
Of trivial chats, comforting words.
It's called home.

If you look back you can see,
Your childish wish,
Still shimmering in warm nights.
A jerk of heart and tears rolling
On dusty evenings.

Where words are true,
And expressions pure,
Where prayers spell of faith...
And promises are kept.
Such a place is still there,
It's called home.

I once chased the questions,
Of curious mind.
My wish to fly,
I wanted to explore
The greens, the browns, the blue.

Now, I seek answers,
For a restless soul.
I have sold my wings,
And got my little slippers,
I am running away,
Running back,
I am running home.

copyright(c) Ankur Shrivastava


oomi said...

dear you have defined it very well

INDR's Angels said...

wonderuful portrayal