Painted Yellow Deserts

I am from Chocolate bars,
The innocent lick of the fingers
After having a frosting-heaped slice of cake.
I am from faded green lawns,
Faded from the feet
Of the young children's play.
I am from the click of
A computer mouse, as I scroll through
My networked life, the little cactus needles
I find floating in my swimming pool.
I am from the clink of keys,
As I open my front door
After a long trip to a place seldom known.
I am from the smell
Of  freshly made turkey roast
On Thanksgiving.
I am from the angular grip
Of a pencil in between my fingers,
The eraser chewed by
My nervous teeth.
I am from painted yellow deserts,
The sneezes from pollen grains,
I am from the honks of rikshaws
Pulling me down Calcutta lanes.

The End

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