Wandering from one place to another in this gypsy life, I have come to realize that home is never a place,it is a feeling that becomes the zest of you.

It is the quaint street with yellow flowers and picket fences. It is the gush of wind that blows against you when you sit lost in thoughts staring at the endless waters and the mighty waves that kiss the shore. It is the rhythm of the seas. It is the pretty purple shell that you found on the beach.

It is the last time you saw your best friend. It’s the stony pavement outside your school where you sat down like orphan beggars on the road.

It’s a book that found you. It’s that precious smile on your little brother.

It’s going to sleep with stories from your grandmother.

It is your favourite golgapa shop.  More than often it is a person whose love clings to you and pushes you forward. It’s that tug of that heart that love’strong hold




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