Friday, January 8, 2016

That Same Shy, Town Girl














That same shy girl of the town
That same street, gulmohar tree, home very own
Cows at the gate, same scene
As, each time I come in

A decade, more, did less change to the sight
People had hair more grey and light
Familiar faces, that auto driver, news paper man
My home, I spent half my life span

Full of kids, that same children's park
Delightful watch, strikes day's spark
Older ones kicking foot ball in ground
Same people, same home, earth is round

That same shy girl of this town
Once with, striped bermuda, glasses on
Peddling away on the cycle, puffing and panting
Is now - On that memory lane rumbling, & on blog ranting.

P.S.- That girl in the words is none other than myself. A peek into my hometown as I step there each year.


3 comments:

  1. Ah. Whenever I return to my native town, it feels like nothing has changed as well, not even me. :)

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    Replies
    1. You said it....we are suddenly the same ..that's what nostalgia of native town does to one

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  2. Some places are almost magical, isn't it? They actually bring us out from our own selves. Lovely poem, Sushma!

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