India
India
Inside me is a topography
Of all the people I call places.
Maps and grids of men women,
and imaginary things
that creates the largest
of mountain peak
to the most diminutive
little street light alley.
Some are picturesque and
bleeds a thousand memories,
others are sinkholes with
pink vapors that ruins
all things growing and healthy.
I am decaying both
rapidly and slowly.
The very feet that
traveled, discovered, named,
and eventually conquered me.
Where outsiders that wanted more
than my roots and blood into their veins
but the very air that sings into my lungs.
I am no longer my own, but I am also
never alone, but never at home.
But for that fact,
I guess all maps on a wall are also
places the people never call home.