Home | Hindi | Kabir | Poetry | Workshop | BoloKids | Writers | Contribute | Search | Contact | Share This Page!                       Shop Online

Poetry New | A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H | I | J | K | L | M | N | O | P | Q | R | S | T | U | V | W | X | Y | Z             Submit a Poem

Editor's Choice of the Week | Poetry Knowledge Zone | Poet of the Week | Themes | Articles /Interviews

Channels
In Focus

Analysis  
Bolography  
Cartoons
Environment   
Opinion 

Columns
 My Word 
 PlainSpeak 
 Random Thoughts 
Our Heritage

Architecture
Astrology
Ayurveda
Buddhism
Cinema 
Culture
Dances 
Festivals
Hinduism
History  
People  
Places 
Sikhism
Spirituality 
Vastu 
Vithika  

Society & Lifestyle

Family Matters 
Health
Parenting
Perspective 
Recipes
Society
Teens 
Women 

Creative Writings

Book Reviews
Ghalib's Corner
Humor
Individuality
Jagoji
Literary Shelf 
Love Letters  
Memoirs
Musings
Ramblings
Stories
Travelogues

Computing
  General Articles
 
CC++ 
  Flash 
  Internet Security 
 
Java 
 
Linux     
  Networking  
Advertisement
 Boloji Prepaid
 International
 Calling Cards

When Are You Coming Home?

I roll on to my side,
arising from slumber,
my hand caressing
the smooth sheet by my side,
the space
you’ve left behind,
to personify the hole in my life.
The uncreased pillow lies sullen and still,
refusing to yield to my embrace.
Devoid of your features,
your hair, your smell, your dribble.
The lone coffee mug,
standing upon the sink,
sending messages of steam into the air.
Little envelopes you’ve never opened,
wispy telegrams, you never read.
Our gray Kelvinator
stands lonesome by the wall
its shelves bare,
bereft of those little brown bottles
you used to delight in, on a hot summer afternoon.
And in the bedroom,
the rosewood almirah,
my grandmother’s bequest crouches into its corner,
with its belly half empty,
deprived of your measure of clothes.
And there is me,
in a house that’s all of a sudden
become too quiet for silence.
Lonely lips that miss being kissed.
Neglected arms that have forgotten to embrace.
Ignored hair that lack’s its luster.
Charcoal eyes, that never had its fill of you.
A defunct soul that has lost itself
somewhere in your memories.

  Georgina Fernandez
June 22, 2003

Top 
 
   

Recommend This Page!

Analysis | Architecture | Astrology | Ayurveda | Book Reviews | Buddhism | Cartoons | Cinema | Computing | Culture | Dances
Environment | Fables | Family Matters | Festivals | Hinduism | Health | History | Home Remedies | Humor | Individuality | Jagoji
Literary Shelf | Memoirs | Musings | Opinion | Parenting | Perspective | Photo Essays | Places | Ramblings
Random Thoughts | Recipes | Sikhism | Society | Spirituality | Stories | Teens | Travelogues | Vastu | Vithika | Women

Home | Bolography | BoloKids | Hindi | Kabir | Poetry | Quotes | Workshop | Writers | Contribute | Search | Contact


Boloji.com is owned and managed by Boloji Media Inc
Privacy Policy | Disclaimer
No part of this Internet site may be reproduced without prior written permission of the copyright holder.