Ramblings of a reclusive drifter

It took a while to hit me, I’ll admit. I was so used to drifting that the Whole idea of losing home seemed Distant Almost like the idea of home. And now, refugeless, I am learning to accept. I find myself suddenly unable to eat, sleep or breathe. I whisper the word ‘holy’ It comes out as  Rune I clutch tightly to thin wisps But I’m Still Reeling…

 In Midland, you spoke in verses, We exchanged stories at the mezzanine, Of Tulips and Chimneys, and Fearful Symmetries. In Hauz Khas, we leaned in together, Reviving old vows while you Regaled me with tales of mystics and runes. Was it in GK? When we spent countless nights confessing Our love for the void? Sipping cola from large, listless Cups? Or was it in the mountains? Where we spent sleepless nights fretting over fits? Past myths, barriers and ruin, “That’s how it is”, you said And that’s how it has been, But you, I am beginning to suspect Are not here