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TREASURE TROVE OF LIFE
TREASURE TROVE OF LIFE

In my youthful days

in the village

I used to sleep

all through the day.

Except when Amma

woke me up

during the lunch time,

I got drowned

deep in slumber.

With the serpent of

darkness eclipsing the daylight

I woke up,

took a cold bath

in the rivulet just

infront of my home,

came back refreshed,

by that time

stars and moon

started shining up in the sky

and they

got reflected on the baseline of

transparent waters of the rivulet

devoured me the

beautiful star-struck,

moon-struck, landscape,

draped in the moonlight,

then entered my room,

and switched on the light.

Until the supper

got ready I sat

on the cowdung pasted verandah

watching the moving shadows

heading to the temple

with oil-wick lamps

flickering all around

a visual treat literally.

I would start reading,

I read a lot those days,

a giant book-shelf

with books arranged

systematically

a treasure-trove of life.

Life in its various

facets tears, joys, agony,

separations, reunions,

nostalgia, abnormalities

as well as peculiarities

even eccentricities as well as madness

all living together like

the vast world we live in.

I stayed awoke

throughout the night

while the world around

caught in the web of sleep,

in the light of the

table-lamp, I read and wrote a lot.

Ocassionally

took glassful of black-tea

from the flask

sometimes sat idle

for hours

listening to the

musical silence,

crickets chirping,

nightingales singing,

kind of eerie silence

sometimes I felt.

Time moved fast

without me knowing,

only when Amma reminded

from my creative pursuits

as the morning approached

nearer and nearer

to caress and embrace me

and with birds in droves

flew past their nests

flapping their wings

chirping, singing

the blowing of conch shell

from the temple nearby

after the daily chores

after the breakfast

I jumped to my bed

for the marathon sleep

of the day.

Now

after years in my

beloved village,

I find myself in the

faraway city

a roaring city like a tiger

day-in and day-out

no respite whatsoever,

my day time in the office

continuation of the

previous day's chore

all mechanical, monotonous

adding to my existential angst.

Night in the city

an extension of the day

the same roaring tiger throughout,

the hustle and bustle.

Recall me my

youthful days in the

village

comparing me my not-so

youthful days in the

city with inertia

and anger combined.

The city which

turned my life upside down

the city which

upset my

sleeping pattern.

The musical silence,

the nightingale singing,

cock crowing

heralding the arrival of dawn,

crows crowing,

crickets chirping,

the eerie silence

birds in droves,

flying past,

flapping wings,

speaking their language,

all, my treasures of yesterday.

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