Thought Bubble.

what is home really?

a pink building with a balcony full of plants.

a grey house that is situated between a white one and another grey one.

a cobbled pavement next to the bus stop...

..."home" is only a feeling.

"Would that I could gather your houses into my hand,

and like a sower scatter them in forest and meadow."

-Gibran.

picture: Pondicherry, 2010.

Insomnia induced observations.

All the kisses blown into the air have vanished. Eyeliners removed, lipsticks wiped off.
Dresses have been tossed into laundry bags and perfumes have evaporated off skins. Now is the time when the mirror sees us-our eyes not lined with kohl, lipstick staining only the corners the tissue missed.
This is the time when the woman slowly disappears into the mirror and the night watches on with passive disinterest.
In some building faraway building, a light turns on. And all we see is a mother waking up to apparent wails of her child.
The window stops the wail from entering the world's eardrums.