Ammalu
Ammalu,
Friend,
Under the old banyan,
Along ridges of paddy,
In shady paths overgrown with bamboo,
By the green temple pond,
Where the stray stork caught fish
And we fed rice to the minnows.
On balmy afternoons, to sit by you,
And weave yarns—of school and home and the city
While wonder crept into your eyes.
To soak in the heat of the setting sun
While you took a dip in the muddy stream.
'Ammalu! why don't you buy soap?'
'Child, this will do.'
Tongue lolling incessantly
Tucking in tobacco,
Toothless grin, wispy white hair,
Skin like leather, breasts bare
Wizened with years and care.
To rush to you with my share of treats,
Savouries, jaggery and other sweets,
To snatch the broom away from your hands
And be chided for touching your grass-mat,
To then watch you eat.
Ammalu, that pleasure none shall beat!
April—season of renewal,
Never complete without you.
People, since,
Have left at crossroads.
Some, out of time,
Others, as I lost shine.
When the bus trundles up the mud-path,
I still search for you,
Just to love and not to fake.
To love and not to take.
Copyright
© 2008 Durga Vijayakumar