Says Mom.
We tolerate you, but
Would your in-laws?
Chuckles Dad.
Once you marry,
The room will all be mine-
Declares my loving Brother.
But should that be
Alright?
When these windows
Remember my childhood,
And the walls echo my
Tattered first words-
Should the air rehearse
my exit? Should the mirror
Constantly remind me,
How my rent is due here?
Why would everything
Repeat itself to
Pack me away?
Home these days is a
Conditioning draped
In care.
A departure dressed
As destiny-
A quiet loosening,
As if the roots should
Learn early, how to
Apologise for growing.