The Rib

You’re my secret tunnel, and its trapdoor -

the small hollows in the wood polished smooth

by my feet and years on the darkened floor,

my failsafe escape from the harshest of truths.

You’re the last port, and the transit en route,

the compass, the pole, earth’s magnetic core.

You’re my rainshine and sundrop, and my pursuit

of happy and hallowed and evermore.

You’re my inner courtyard, and its crack where

a banyan raises its tentative shoot.

You’re home, and wider world, and city squares,

open café terrace, intimate stairs.

You are stillness, and restless, and uproot.

You’re the art in heart, the rib in tribute.

As I'm travelling through the summer/monsoons, my posts are scheduled but I will be checking in as and when I can buy, beg, borrow or steal a net connection :) Have a great week!