You go away. You return. In between the face changes. People squint at you as if you Are a stranger, before the flame Of recognition ignites in their eyes.

The front door has a new color now, And the maze of alleys is noisier. You lose your way and arrive At the corner café and hear your Voice echoing in a language

That is now difficult for you
To speak. How to spell what you have Forgotten then? How will you explain Yourself to those who have waited For you then? Will your mask convey

Everything? Narrate all the passages You have endured? Detail all the places On your body where the skin has chafed Raw? Tell of the arthritic knee that has begun to grate on cold winter mornings?

No you can’t do that! You are hope! You have to return as the monsoons Return after a summer, bearing rain. Yes, be this even though you know The emptied clouds have to keep going On those trackless highways of no return!

2004:02:03, 21:00, Atlanta Eve of the first journey back to India after 3.5 years