How I Wish

When the strange faces
Grow more and more strange,
When routine becomes monotonous
And is not willing to change,
When the whole milieu becomes
As prickly as the pine,
And all what once used to be
Is no more benign,
When I find my feet chained
As I wish to roam
An honest wish-
I wish I were home.

        When the days go by,
        Just waiting for the night,
        And all that I wish to see
        Has vanished out of sight,
        I look up at the sky
        To see the stars shining,
        But all I see are dark clouds
        With no silver lining,
        Whenever they deny me
        A look at spangled dome,
        An honest wish-
        I wish I were home.

When I know people waiting
For a single glimpse of mine,
Praying for me and hoping
In His every shrine,
When it is just the voice
Being sent across the miles
And a touch is needed
To bring back the smiles;
When reality is no more than
Memories' catacomb,
An honest wish-
I wish I were home.

        When in the wide world
        I find myself lonely,
        Fighting adversities
        Is myself only;
        When solitude frightens
        And threatens me too,
        I wish I were closer
        To the people I knew;
        When my own free spirit
        Irks me like a gnome,
        An honest wish-
        I wish I were home.


When I find myself
Searching things unknown
And what tumults inside is
Quelled than being shown
When in the crowd, I,
Struggle for individuality,
When the ocean in my eyes
Loses its tranquility
And the raving waves have
More salt in the foam,
An honest wish-
I wish I were home.

        When all I can think of
        Are stupid rhymes,
        I make and break them
        An umpteen times,
        When I badly hate it
        But I just have to cry
        When I have to moisten
        Responses so dry
        When I have to mask
        My feelings so true,
        When I stifle emotions,
        And words I hew,
        When I am lost
        In the wilderness of thought
        When the past and the future
        Grind me to naught
        When I am sick and tired
        Of every other thing
        The flower, the thorn,
        The scent and the sting,
        I can only allow them,
        (What else can I do?),
        To love me, to hate me,
        To neglect me too
        And to tell me that I have
        Some home sick syndrome,
        But I wish honestly-
        I wish I were home.