Homecoming

By Samyuktha Prasanan

Here now, as I sit back

with my back against my squeaky chair

and eyes closed, drowning in a sheath

of blinding lights,

I raise a toast to the things that were

and those that weren't.

And then there was wind

that ruffled the leaves

of a late autumn afternoon,

the evening sky swooning for the

sun and moon's unrequited love,

the smell of fresh pine

went straight to my senses,

storing the smell in a memory box.

Like cinnamon to bread,

the air wafted with a familiar scent,

the little soldiers in my brain

where racing around, trying to find

the treasure box and its key

to unlock from where I knew it,

the smell of green apples and vanilla.

Suddenly the stark dark hallways

lit up with fairy lights,

broken instances of a memory so fond

found its way to resurface.

Dipping my body deeper into the chair

and leaning my head back,

there's a smile that curves my lips.

The old corridors of my school fill up the void

that pertained,

my friends and I

running along, playing tag

and talking about Lady Gaga's new album,

the times when I fell and got carpet burns on my knees,

and when we all sat outside the classroom

during the early hours of school.

15 years have gone by

and the memories still reel out

in color, nostalgia painting the walls of

my cave-like mind

and splashing purples and yellows

all around for a homecoming that I wasn’t expecting.

By Samyuktha Prasanan