The fruit laden branches of an old mango tree
rest leisurely on the whitewashed compound wall,
while a black rickety gate that squeaks as it opens,
acknowledges the arrival of a new guest,
as my yearning eyes feast on the first glimpse of home
flooding my senses with warmth and love.
Once again i search for those fleeting memories,
among the little lucky red seeds on this ground,
that lie scattered adorning each corner and crevice
buried under the damp soil and jasmine petals,
as i reflect on those moments too precious to be erased
because they were born in the womb of innocence.
Then my thoughts could soar with the freedom of a breeze
not burdened by the weight of expectations,
and feather light dreams could be gleefully entrusted
to the safety of wobbly paper boats,
when sorrows could vanish and happiness be found
among rag dolls and tinkle of glass bangles.
How I loved those sandalwood scented twilights,
when shadows sketched patterns on faded walls,
and age old characters sprang slowly into life,
from the pages of my grandmother’s folklore,
as my little mind wandered above the roaming clouds,
before settling on a beauteous starry night.
©2016 Anjana Vipin E
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