This is Home. 
An oasis in the midst of mind's agonizing 
noise and bustle, 
birth and death. 
Abode of Spring, 
where consciousness springs, 
where Silence makes room 
for breath
and breezes
and birdsong.
Where the moaning mourning resistance to death 
recedes and quietens and 
allows Life to be.
Oh, painful the separation 
from this place! 
Not wanting to leave again, 
to again step out, 
step in, 
to time and mine and me.
Why, Spring, 
don't your green vines spread 
and brighten all corners 
of this pitiful mind? 
Why do we only return to you 
when the noises 
are too loud or painful?
Ache away, heart, 
the ache of un-wanted wants 
and un-needed needs.
Breath the green that is always here
...ever present...ever waiting. 
Tired mind, 
exhausted from infinite spinning 
with recycled thread
Over and through and over again. 
When will it end?
Take away these spinning tools, Lord.
I want to be that chameleon, 
who, in his very translucence, 
is one with the Abode 
who gave rise to him. 

– Sandhya Khurana