A Sojourn to Childhood

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In a sojourn to my childhood
There was this man with his wife
And his twelve children, of which
The eldest, whom I never seen
Was the only married, with kids,
On the other side of a river which
My home round, lived in a house
With thatched roof on a piece
Of raised land from the river
This side and low stretch of
Rice field on the other side

He was around 50 years, burned
Under sun and thin, but of full
Vigor, his wife , unlike him, bit
Fatty, again burned under sun
The youngest a giggling infant
Mostly on the hip of a four
Years old girl, a twins of six
Years washing clothes by the river
The elder girls , a son in youth
Working in the rice field their small
He ploughing the field, the wife
Carrying cow-dung to the site
Another boy in a small boat
Fishing, probably for the lunch
The elder girl in between cooks
In a big aluminum vessel their rice
Under those big trees around
The house, with firewood
Soon joined by the boy with fish-
Basket of some bamboo woven
The lunch is getting ready
The twins are up spreading
Clothes, (baby clothes it seems)
The man stops to have a smoke
Witty, at times come to the
New born, tickling it, talking
Sweet, a loving and caring
His wife, passionate and
Responsible but overloaded
Still happy and all-pervading
With all her children in her eyes

They take their buffaloes to bath
They bath, all, eat together , there
Under the trees, then mother
Takes girls inside, and the babies too
Men stretch on a cloth,
Over the hay-spread, for a nap
The evenings, men to shops,
For little paddy, stuff for kids
And home, mother and girls
Cleaning the home and around

There was this happy family
Content, and friendly
Laughing and singing
There was no qualm for
Anything, and no space
In that quorum vacant
The family, including
The sky, sun, moon, soil
River, trees, cattle
Fish, and what not

My monologue effused
Such jubilant vibrations
With a maelstrom wrote
It a madrigal on the empty
Page of my city life of 21st
Century, here, today
leaving its regalia on my
thirsty heart , riving its
insulation of a prescient
enjoying the divine marriage
with all around , up and down

I guess my knapsack is full
To hobnob with a good sleep
The glint of a silver moon ray
Reflect on the eyelid
Of an opening jasmine bud
In a sojourn to my childhood
There was this man with his wife,
His twelve children and
This whole world

.
Sarala

(it may need editing.. just wrote it .. it is of some real thing I grew up with , which I imagine in a new light.. beautiful reminiscences )

4 thoughts on “A Sojourn to Childhood

  1. Louis Kasatkin

    Whilst style can be a matter of taste and personal preference, this is very much al fresco, the editor’s response to the author’s footnote – (it may need editing.. just wrote it .. it is of some real thing I grew up with , which I imagine in a new light.. beautiful reminiscences ) is,yes indeed and quite a good deal of editing.

    Reply
    1. Sarala Ramkamal Post author

      Thank you Louis Kasatkin. I posted it because this is the first trial in the narrative way where story is more importance (i guess so).

      Reply

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