Buried

I seek not to redress or purge
I seek not revenge or retribution
In these lonely sojourns…
In my yearly visits back to life

The age-old rituals and sound of dhaks
The smells, sights and sounds…
The familiar warmth
And, the feeling of being home again

Time and time again…
Tilottoma in your arms…
In crescent moons and fleur de lis
I sleep…I cry…I remember…

The dark room and old roads
And, trying to explain where I stand…
Tearing apart those who try to reach out
Pushing them, hurting them…till it hurts no more

I know not why I write…
As, I see the sun rise from the early morning flight
And, I return to the world burying you deep inside…
But, as much as I try Tilottoma, you are buried but never forgotten.