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There’s only one road and
not a thousand,
though the ways to get home
are many.
Mango blossoms and the flamboyant’s,
piled up clouds on a day
that’s rainy.
The sound of a key turning a
lock
the rattle of a cracked
casement glass,
a worm’s eye view of bridges
of smoke,
grazing cattle configured on
grass.
An old railway map marbled
with tracks
boarding passes of bleached,
faded trips
a chipped drawer stacked
with photographs -
the preserved debris of old
friendships.
Each one of them is a
sufficient route
to loop
back in a flash and touch the roots.
What does the world have that home doesn't? Not a trick question, genuine.
Well, chocolate for one. In my case. Chocolate has been produced in India from 1960's onwards, but except for niche, artisanal (read super pricey!) chocolate, the mass market stuff is overly sweet and too hard/harsh for my palate. European chocolate is still my favourite, available through out the ME but extremely expensive in Fiji as well as India. However, Fiji produces its own chocolate and there are other brands from NZ which aren't too bad. I will lose access to them obviously, once I move back. It will become an occasional treat from a-few-squares-a-day-keeps-the-heebie-jeebies-away type daily essential commodity at present. I'll have to deal with that. Home is not where the chocolate is.
The reason why I am thinking all this is because that's what the prompt is at WEP next month -
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| Join us! Post Aug 16th-18th, 2023. |
Bittersweet, dark or white, studded with nuts, dusted with candied fruit, encasing intoxicating liqueurs in various heady flavours. Haunted by dodgy dealings and mirroring its own bittersweetness in its history, which is changing but not changing fast enough - it's a veritable metaphor for life itself! What's not to love, right?
