Of sandal, spices and of mud
I smell my land-far, far away
Where children swung on banyan roots
And marbles were the game to play.
I dream of colors and flowers
And of the muddy paths I walked
And how I waited for the rains
And how we giggled while we talked.
I think of grassy orchards where
We played the game of climbing trees
And scrambling down with guavas ripe
I held my face against the breeze.
Come summer, what delight it was
To pickle mangoes, green and raw
Chasing the glow worms in the dark
And every shadow that we saw.
Sometimes sitting by the green pond
We took up fishing for some fun
And having caught a fish or two
I tried to dry them in the sun.
And now I am so far away
From childhood and this lovely land
There are no games, no colors bright
They were but castles on the sand.
These footprints on my memories
Cannot be washed away by time
No matter where I live or go
Like little bells they tinkle, chime.
At times these faded memories
Come out, alive, in my deep dreams-
The comfort of my adult life
Might not be as good as it seems.
I smell my land-far, far away
Where children swung on banyan roots
And marbles were the game to play.
I dream of colors and flowers
And of the muddy paths I walked
And how I waited for the rains
And how we giggled while we talked.
I think of grassy orchards where
We played the game of climbing trees
And scrambling down with guavas ripe
I held my face against the breeze.
Come summer, what delight it was
To pickle mangoes, green and raw
Chasing the glow worms in the dark
And every shadow that we saw.
Sometimes sitting by the green pond
We took up fishing for some fun
And having caught a fish or two
I tried to dry them in the sun.
And now I am so far away
From childhood and this lovely land
There are no games, no colors bright
They were but castles on the sand.
These footprints on my memories
Cannot be washed away by time
No matter where I live or go
Like little bells they tinkle, chime.
At times these faded memories
Come out, alive, in my deep dreams-
The comfort of my adult life
Might not be as good as it seems.
2 comments:
Wow!!! Reminds me of home. But the theme is deeply reminiscent of "The West Wind" by John Masefield. Although, the styles of both the poems is vastly different, yours being a lot more colourful(perhaps because of my experience with an Indian childhood, and not a European childhood).
Thanks-I hadn't read that poem of his until you mentioned it(reason #1000001 why i like google). It is definitely far, far superior and is sadder. I liked his other poem "Sea-fever".
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