Miss My Home

Spending most time in the patio
 reading, and watching the traffic
 I badly miss the place 
when I am in  my second home
 where  burglary is rampant. 
 Windows are locked
 doors are bolted 
 I am like the one  in prison
seeing the outer world 
through the glasses.

My gardener of long time 
warns me to lock the door 
waits outside the gate, 
 cycles once the  auto gate closes
So does my milkman  who 
hoots at 9 in the morning
 fills the vessel with milk
 stays till I get back 
into the interiors.

My neighbour, a Chinese,
 ever  watchful rushes to the gate 
once he says a stranger near 
my home.  My husband calls me 
to find out  whether I am safe.
 I pass my days longing 
to return to my original home,
where I am free with the sun 
 wind and rain cross checking me.