The waiting for summer vacation to come…
When one could spend all the time in JUST fun…
Those years when school was scarier than life…
Only going to that small village could make it bright…
Walking on the road, I plan…
Let’s do this or that when it began…
The traveling by those iron rot trains and buses…
One could barely fit their tusshies…
Walking on the uneven roads…sun rising high above the horizons…
Towards the station with the excitement to see our owns…
Those aunties wearing pink and green and yellow sarees…
Their husbands in their own household worries…
Kids about to climb the stairs…
With all the summery shirt and legs half bare…
Those dry days and summer scorching everybody’s mind…
Dry trees and dry plants…
Those cows and buffaloes moving in their clans…
Earth breaking into small pieces…
Waiting for a drop of rain…
Sight of people dark and brown…closing their eyes in their own mourn…
Waiting at the station to eat those snacks…
Samosas and chips and pop corns with those sweets…
The holy river that flows close to that haunted house…
A 25 paise coin drowned and joining hands with a spiritual bow…
I wonder if kids did that now…
It’s something I wished had never changed…
My childhood remains all but a faint name…
20 years down the line…
Never thought it will be all a pen and a line…
Like someone moving the reels behind the wall…
Memories cross my path and crawl…
I still remember those less traveled paths…
In the jungles of the village most visited….
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