Womb

Just like any love, it is hard to say when you fall in love with your city. 
The exact instant when the word means something more than a dot on the map.
 
Like that moment someone calls your mother, your mother- is that your mother? 
And you turn around and there she is, yes silly, that is my mother, 
who else is she supposed to be? She is not just a woman. This is not just a city.

Like the time your friend hits on your childhood sweetheart, 
and you glance in her direction and marvel at the discovery of new old love. 
As if by ignoring her all this while you contributed to the sudden beauty.

And its boundaries, never known to you, never seen by you,are still yours,
Like the underside of your ass. If a stranger told you of its sweet curve,
You blush with excitement at their observant nature.

When you understand not just the language but the grammar of the city,
the metaphors, the idioms, the jokes, the poetry. And she seeps into yours. 
Making you her own.

You know you love a city, when you feel her pushing you away, knowing you never belonged to her,
knowing that there are desires and dreams that will remain unborn 
if you remained in her womb, in your womb.