Gray Poetry

I don not want to go home

I don't want to belong

I don't need to be rooted

I don't like to own.

I wish to go there

where there's no plumbing or fixing the bulb

I need not worry about the peeling off

It's not mine.

I can let the vine tree grow and 

creep out from the crevices

I need not cement it up

The gray painted walls will not echo any familiar story

The ceiling can't tempt for death 

The mysterious cobweb below the staircase 

can stay with the bluish spider 

The pale ugly square mark on the wall

of that old painting may keep murmuring old history

I can keep making love signs with my finger

on the dust layer of the writing table

Nothing needs to be familiar

No one needs be known

I don't want to go home

I don't want to belong.

There's an uncanny freedom, a 'Mukti' 

in 

uprootedness

in

being unsettled.