images (5)

How often we have flipped over
the pages of our foggy memory
and stood before our younger self?
So many journeys into our self in black and white,
So many times!


Ah, this is me, a plain Jane,
with a shock of curly hair,
grinning with a missing tooth!
And, here I am with my cousins
and my brand new carom board,
A gift on my thirteenth birthday!

And this again is me,
in a new pair of glasses
What a feather brained, book worm I was then!
And this one with my dear Amma,
(Such good looks she had!),
She wore sleeveless blouses and read poetry!

And here’s my father, the strict disciplinarian:
“Cross your t’s and dot your i’s
Come home before the last sun rays touch the sky!”
It’s here I stop in silence for a while
and watch my younger self come to life.
I shiver, I dread still, though I am  past my prime.
My younger sister,his favorite, carried tales to him,
(She was always the spoilsport !)
But this was no crime,that i had done
just being honest I thought it then.

He hollered and I saw a storm brewingimages (10)

“Hold your tears!
I have no patience for all this,
And I hate to  hear this emotional nonsense,
You’ve crossed the line, of discipline
So, no more radio, no more play this entire week.”
(It was adding insult to injury, I feel)
I crumble like a cookie, aghast .
But then if he thought he was right,
Let him be,why dwell in the past?images (8)

With this I am jolted back into the present
(Do I still resent it? I think, I do!)
Outside, the sun is a burning ball of fire
And it looks like rains have plans to retire,
(Forgetting us, the sinful ones?)

But, now I can feel the raindrops clinging to my eyes,images (9)

And I can hear the rain falling on my wounded soul!

images (7)
Disclaimer: The narrator has no intention whatsoever to justify or prove a point. All persons and events in this poem are fictitious.


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