The lost days – My village
The wheel of time has run past the days of my past
The days when I used to play and run
in the sands of my village,
smiling and making a fool of myself, sometimes.
The green paddy plants swinging in a gentle breeze
Those long walks in the lap of nature on bare foot,
and listening to the symphony made by the giant bamboo trees
or plucking lotus flowers, dipped in mud of the local pond.
Watching my grandma churn milk and tend to the cows,
making sweets and other delicacies to see us smile
seeing her delighted face on our arrival,
and watching her shed tears when we are about to leave.
Oh those nostalgic memories!
Playing cricket on the open fields
or plucking mangoes in someone’s else garden
Talking with faces, never seen before and never seen after.
That intimacy, innocence and simplicity.
Sometimes we spend a lifetime looking for love, and yet
Love, in its purest form, is granted to us, just like that.
But we remain blind. We remain ignorant.
We become the fools, who search for the light, standing right under the lamp.
Those days are gone,
Those moments are gone.
Those nice people have also faded,
And yet, I will keep on cherishing those memories
Churning love out of those precious moments…
This post is written on the title flaneur as a discovery challenge. Thinking of a place, my mind took me to the memory lanes of my village, where I have spent a considerable amount of time roaming, playing and enjoying life in my childhood. Those memories are so lively and fresh. The best things in life comes from simple things and this is true when I think of my village.