The smell of trees.
We’ve spoken about Agastya before, in this post – A new haircut. This poem is based on a very particular line that I wrote for him in that post. I hope you enjoy this! Do comment, a lot. Literally.
– Utsav Raj
“He missed his people and the way they smelled like different kinds of trees.”
Home is a tricky concept.
I think of it as a wall,
with cracks running down its spine,
picture frames of memories
hanging on fragile nails,
and a very nostalgic touch to it.
You decide what the wallpaper is,
what it looks like
and what it smells like.
For me,
it looked like people
and smelled like trees.
My best friend
who I barely spoke to anymore,
stood on the far left.
If I ruffled his hair
I’d feel a breeze on my face
rushing away to hide
its European Larch scent,
fresh and distant.
A kid I used to teach
stood on the far right
and when I tickled him,
he would giggle endlessly.
He was sweet and smelled of honey
like Sassafras trees.
Dead center
was the girl I loved.
When I kissed her forehead,
and my nose played hide and seek
with her hair,
I caught a fragrance
and it reminded me strongly
of cherry blossoms.
Home is a tricky concept,
and unless you leave,
you’ll never know what you’ll miss.
Instagram handle: @myspirals
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My Spirals 