Sunday, February 5, 2012

Reminiscence


I am thinking of sunny days,
dropfulls of golden sun,
rolling hills and sprawling fields,
covered with ripened fruit.
I am thinking of forgotten songs-
warm meals cooked over wood fire;
the eye-stinging naughty smoke
that chased us round the fire, and the
riveting stories that salted its cooking.

I am thinking of forgotten dreams;
dreams of cow herds and goat hoards-
a little house in the valley, plenty crop,
and simple longings like
a quiet life sheltered by the hills-
tucked away from the stoic sepsis
of modern ways and their sterility.

I am thinking of rainy days,
dropfulls of dewy hopes-
the healing scent of wet anthill-soil,
and ancient myths and fables
Like the story of a sunny rain hailing
the birth of a leopard cub.

Round these parts it doesn’t rain.
It pours.
And I, peering up at a weeping sky,
wonder,
What story does each drop conceal?



No comments:

Post a Comment