A happy Homesick ?

I break this dry spell of writing, with a smile - thousands of miles away from Home - the city of Joy Calcutta. In this ancient city of St.Andrews, Fife, i meet people from places i've read in Shakespearean books like Macbeth. The churches, the library, the Union, the bars - they are all marvellous....But its not the same, not the same as my city, my country ! Whenever a brown person passes, i secretly wish that he spits or abuses, whenever anybody talks of culture i feel my nose automatically find its place up somewhere suspended with arrogance, whenever they discuss spice or curries i instantly think of chicken chawaal of home.....My mind travels, its not steady any longer, any particular word can get me drooling for India ! I know that with most Calcuttans thats the way it....People can call me what ever they want to - patriotic? Or just plain - homesick. 

Joie De Vivre

Hold my hand and take me ,
To a place ,
Unknown as Agnostos ,
Where the breeze plants kisses ,
And bolshic waters flow near ,
Where acacia leads a dance ,
And creatures wallow benignly ,
Where staid skies with wonders wide ,
And savage grass to face it ,
Where the birds sing tunes of life.

Hold my hand and take me ,
To a place ,
Unknown as Agnostos ,

Time speeds ,
And now there's Agnostos ,
To which i belong no more ,
morose...
Now deride me ,
In the absence of Joie De Vivre...