There is an old town road
that bends around the corner.
Home to all the bustle
and all the amble.
Graced by a well and a temple,
Houses with white walls and clay shingles.
Verandahs where everyone mingles,
And speakers playing 108 repetitions
Of religious jingles.
I find a space in a little corner,
Away from the madness and godliness.
Finding an outlet to my ire
On a worn out tire.
Thinking to myself,
“I should be playing Age of Empires,
Not this game of squares!”
The summer winds bringing the rustle,
The sweet Sharbat,
And the pineapple I manage to hustle,
Provide a brief respite to my constant struggle.
“Want to head down to the stream?”,
Hearing those words I beam.
I sprint down the road
Bending around the corner.
Past the array of coconut trees,
And the heaps of fodder.
Into the fields of paddy,
Trying to fly off into the brownish green yonder.
The stream is small with a check dam,
Making it my cool little pool.
3 PM on the clock shows a deserted dock.
I change quick and into the water I plop.
Back stroke, front stroke, breast stroke and butterfly,
Jack of none but who cares,
Pebbles on the stream’s bed,
Or was that a fish that brushed my leg?
I wash away my dreariness.
I wash my ire.
My little pool is the only thing I aspire.
Back in the temple,
The beats of chenda sound gentle,
The payasam tastes sweeter,
The crowd seems nicer,
So I strike a bargain🙏,
“Someone told me about seven lives,
Can I have my little pool for the next six?”
15 years later as the sun goes down,
On my side of town
This rustic-nostalgic feeling
Comes to my door reminding me,
Of an old town road
that bends around the corner.
