The Language of Home

The Language of Home

Trying to memorize
the language of home,

I have become
a little blurred,
a little brown.

Loving home,
loving it too much,

I have become
a little impure,
a little torn.

I crawl,

indifferent,

trying to swallow
my own breath,

having learned
to ask for permission
even to breathe.

I now call
the Supreme Soul

Coca-Cola.

At the touch
of Coca-Cola's branch,

the sun-scorched crow
has flown away,

towards
the land of the displaced.

Shoe-polish,
Shree-polish,
heart-polish,

all smeared together,

I have chosen
not to become

the youngest,
the devoted,
or the devout,

but instead,

from the earthen pots and pans
of the Rig Veda and the sick-leaves,

from the intimacy
of the examination hall,

I have chosen

to uproot
myself.



Poetry by sinha murari
Read 88 times
Written on 2026-09-02 at 06:42

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jim The PoetBay support member heart!
Poems of home are inherently meaningful. Uprooting yourself is what I did—and I know why, but the word "home" evokes strong feelings place, One place. One street. One house.
2026-09-03


Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
A great piece. I like the format and how it flows. I also thought the Coca-Cola reference was very clever. Looks like the protagonist has made up his mind.
2026-09-02


Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
A smashing first submission, Sinha, and welcome to PoetBay. I really enjoyed the read and had a good chuckle at Coca-Cola being the supreme Soul: I shouldn't have done, of course, because there's pathos there that reminds us of the false gods of '26. Blessings, Allen
2026-09-02


ken d williams The PoetBay support member heart!
A great work, sinha murari, welcome to poetbay
ken d williams
2026-09-02