In the permafrost of memory;
Scattered are those scores;
Of remnants- the childhood colours-
A collage, though of pallid years
Capsules bright moments and tears
That no forces can efface.
Those escapades fervent
Forays undaunted
Into the neighbourhood;
Cocooned delights and, aye!
That blemishes painful too.
Fire wood from forest fills;
Arduous climb into the winter hills
For yellowing green bamboos;
Of-times upon some lazy pastures
Grazing the cattle
And poor songs I sing.
At school among friends
In summer we squander and play,
Even during the muddy May
Wall girt though the wide world,
Almost an arcane dream it was!
What of tender roses? I pose;
Writhing worms in soggy fields;
Rains and streams
Daylight and dreams!
O’ it comes in sparks and spits again!
When the autumn breeze blew
A swell of flesh, full of frown,
Frail of fingers, faltering eyes,
The first and the eldest mother said,
On the seventh month was born
And in gratitude my palms I fold,
Oh! Coffee here is already cold?
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