This was not meant to be a poem really....because there are many things that have changed today and yet every time i go back home all grown up i miss these two things about my old house......
My house, how big it was once,
When i was a kid, I would hide and never be caught,
A new hiding place i would find everyday,
A new game everyday i would learn to play.
I would stare at the long coconut trees,
Watering them and imagine them grow an inch longer,
I would giggle as i felt dizzy watch the trees sway,
I would turn around in circles to fall down.
I would wait for the candyman at the gates everyday,
Keenly listening to his deliberately made up cacophony,
The sound of his cycle bell causing a tingle down my spine,
I would wait with my hands holding on the 'aath aana' tightly.
Today the house remains no more,
I live in a matchbox of an apartment,
I yearn to catch a breath of fresh air,
I give up to switch on the air conditioning.
The candyman comes still but is old and unable to shout,
He his become the boogeyman for all the kids around,
He looks up to my balcony recognising me,
And i see on his face a melancholy.
Every small thing felt mine before,
But now i feel otherwise,
In my own house i feel like a prisoner,
The journey of my life is not mine anymore.
V.V.Vikram
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