Nikhil Parekh - Indian Poet
Those days were golden when I was a kid,
deprived of all responsibility,
divested of the urge to earn, run for fodder,
slept all night in cozy delights of my quilt,
to be woken up by the first rays of dawn,
shrill ringing bell of the portable clock,
brief shower with tap water, clad in cream uniform,
greeted by the welcome aroma of mud brown coffee,
ravishing crumbs of bread submerged in jam,
a quick glimpse at unfinished assignments,
vigorous coats of polish activating shoe shine,
meticulous combing of ruffled slept hair,
carefree manipulation of things to be purchased,
hasty packaging of school artillery in leather bag,
animated deliberation with my mother on study hours,
I now marched at fast pace towards the bus stop.
The wind was chilly, sunlight had a role of guest
appearance,
leafy tree foliage camouflaged the road,
droplets of salt water blew from the violent sea,
exuberant birds soared high in the clouds,
lazy yawns echoed through, long van interiors,
occasional clatter of ticket punch pads,
the glass paned bus finally switched routes,
heading towards suburban areas of walled city,
braked to a halt abreast my majestic school building,
the electric school bell was ringing, catholic prayers
had just begun,
as I galloped with my friends, to my compact class room,
now engulfed profoundly with full morning Sunlight.
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Reflections Of Childhood
Reflections Of Childhood
