This time last year, I was moving to Mumbai from Delhi, a city that after six years had finally begun to feel like home. And yet it wasn't, but perhaps Mumbai would be...
Now, I'm moving again, to Bangalore...perhaps this city will be home.
Things do not explode,
they fail, they fade
as sunlight fades from the flesh,
as the foam drains quick in the sand,
even love's lightning flash
has no thunderous end,
it dies with the sound
of flowers fading like the flesh
from sweating pumice stone,
everything shapes this
till we are left
with the silence that surrounds Beethoven's head.
by Derek Walcott