Tethered.

Tethered to this land I call home.
People wonder why I am unable to move,
Why I have not aspired to fly higher.
What could possibly be so sacred,
That you refuse to flee to greener pastures, they ask.

How do I explain to them, this attachment.
Thinking too deeply about it reminds me of its shortcomings.
The people who did me wrong,
The stifling environment, the ever so inquisitive, ever so bitter mouthed souls.
The lethargic folks, always looking for trouble,
Ambling to protest all sorts of supposed wrongs.

Most days, I am filled with an emptiness here.
But it is a known kind, unlike that elsewhere,
Being away fills me with an unexplained longing.
A friend who knows me too well at some point remarks,
Is it your dogs? Are you unable to leave them behind.
Perhaps.
Is it the 'known fears are better than the unknown' thing?
Perhaps.

Such a strange thing,
This concept of home.
I close my eyes, and all I associate with the word, is this place.
With its troubled people,
With its crumbling, decayed system, reeking of greed and wrongs.
I see my old and frail grandma, lighting up when I hug her.
I see Missy and Winnie, their tails wagging furiously when I call out to them.
I see my aunt, who has always loved me so unconditionally,
I see home in her carefully packed food tiffins of love.
I see my parents, flawed and mine,
We have learned to co-exist with each other over time.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.
How could I possibly leave them behind.
No matter where I go, their faces will haunt me,
And drag me back willingly to this flawed home of mine.