Memories unfolded

Sunday morning, when laziness creep in,

And I lay on my couch, watching the flowing river;

My memories unfold, bringing in the fragrance of childhood,

I think it smells of ilanji flowers;

Whose fragrance won't fade even if it dries off…

Or does it get more fragrant on being old and dried, like the golden memories?

And it, yes my memories, has bright red colour like the red beads,

Which I regularly fetched from the dried ground of the paddy field,

During those summers, as I mindlessly wandered…

The adventurous expeditions to pluck 

The wonderful lotuses, without being stung by the thorns,

And not entangled and trapped in the lotus stems…

Lying flat on the ground, under the cashew tree,

Looking at the light sweeping in through the foliage…

The mulberries plucked and stored in leafy bags,

Giving red tinge to the tongue…

Wondering when the cashew apple will fall,

And run like a lightning to fetch the mango 

When the thud falls in ears, before my brother gets there…

And being watchful nearing the mango tree,

Seeing the skin shed by the reptile;

Whom I'm irritated but not afraid of…

Then solitude was real bliss;

Now solitude wears the cloak of loneliness.

And now, mango falls in the front yard,

I don't run, nor do I see any running to fetch it!