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Homeless

Punam Sharma

My clothes are all wrong
I had tried to dress the
traditional way
but the way I carry them
makes me stand out
the syllables that roll off my tongue
though similar to theirs
even to my own ears
have an alien accent
the sights, the sounds
which I imagined
had pulled me all these years
leave me strangely uncomfortable
my crinkling of nose
and exasperated sighs
though smothered
are frowned upon
the whispering behind my back
is hard to miss
I smile awkwardly
gulping the too sweet tea hastily
longing to be home
but home is not home
all these years that
I have spent here
have been an outsider,
standing on the periphery
never belonging
tethered to the memories
of my roots and now
I stand exposed
floating in a limbo
not sure where home is.

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