A Patchwork Soul

In a world growing increasingly simple and mono-tone-ous, separated by neat, geometrical borders of us and them, I proudly unfurl my soul, peacock-wise, far into the sky, baring its glorious confusion to all who would see and hear in all the cities I bear within me.

My ever-expanding, patchwork soul is made up of so many cities and stories and people and voices and faces and food and houses and animals and jungles and oceans and mountains and rivers and waterfalls and clouds and sand and stones and driftwood and messages in bottles.

It grows willy-nilly, in shifting patterns of tongues that mix and colours that run and leaking motifs that sometimes clash and sometimes blend.

Amidst all the cities, there is one that formed the weave of my fabric: the Calcutta of my youth.  This chameleon city taught me to see the glory of chaos. Why be one when you can be all? Why choose when you can gather? Why be sure when you can ask? Why know when you can debate? Why follow straight lines when squiggles are so much more fun?

I pick out some rainbow threads from my patchwork soul every sunset and sing a personal paean to some of the people, places, voices, and faces I carry with me and to the city that germinated my travel-lust.