Rusted Hinges

RUSTY HINGES

The doors of the time machine swing open
On rust hinges; I hop in, it waddles duck –like
Picking up speed, bumping and bouncing
Over patches of turbulence.
Stop, stop! I scream, no it’s not a dream.
I jump out of the time machine
Once again, a mercurial teen; Time squints.
Languorous moments rub sleep kinks from eyes.

Heads peep, pheran clad, tousle-haired,
Whacky grins burst forth, teeth bared
Staccato bursts of mirth
On a still untraumatized earth.
Bleary eyed, I see myself scooping the sunrays
In my hands, and hurling them back in the sky.
Ah, look, look, they come back as golden rain
Cascading down from the azure skies
To drench the Chinar tree of yore.

That sun- drenched chinar is now rooted in the heart.
A luminescent relic, unbowed, swaying, sloughing, rustling,
Uncowering; showering hues of amber, mauve, yellow, and red
Curled and twisted by the shenanigans of summer
Now its fire still burns, undying, in its autumnal hues
Pouring forth a verse, in happy harmony with the universe.

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About Santosh

An educationist with a passion for writing , having published some novels for young adults, some essays and some poems. My poetic biography of Mahatma Gandhi will soon be published .

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