Weary traveler, come home

“It’s a funny thing coming home. Nothing changes. Everything looks the same, feels the same, even smells the same. You realize what’s changed is you.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald

Excitement starts stirring in my chest

In anticipation of what’s coming next

Memories of the hallowed land dear

From my brain’s recesses suddenly appear-

Invading all senses in an explosion

Of images, smells, sounds and the feel

Of my homeland, making my head reel

The sense of missing something crucial

Is keener than ever, the pain is real

Nervous with excitement and anticipation

I look forward to the landing with apprehension-

What has changed in the land that is preserved

In my memory as a snapshot in time leaves me unnerved

Despite annual pilgrimages my warped vision

Of my homeland has not changed, it is frozen

In time- back to when I left the shore

To taste new flavors, new vistas explore-

As the plane touches the ground and comes to a halt

I am shaken out of my reverie, I smell the asphalt

Melting under the mercilessly hot tropical sun

My fragile nerves are finally soothed

Euphoria fills my soul, I am back to my roots!