Domestic.

The house is always so silent,

With just the two of us,

The neighbors must sleep peacefully.

You’re in the kitchen,

Pots and pans clattering,

While I stare at a book,

Visualizing myself between those sentences.

I smell prawns, fish, and rice.

I smell typical malayali dinner.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

A peace of prolonged vacation returns,

In its blue floral shirt and a Pina colada in its hand,

Toasting to the lightness of the souls in the house.

Both who welcome it with vigour and silent longing.

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