Soft and cold, the mud beneath my toes
Juggling in my palms, the sapphire Velcro orb.
In white, I hopped and leaped and walked
To brinks and brooks and those wild bergamots.
Peeping sunshine, pacing and dwindling
Resonant, the same old woods singing to me
Unfathomable, as they grew younger it seemed
With the precious babyhood rhyme and me.
I found the log of miro bowing along
On which we used to park twice each month.
Chronicles of Beowulf and Endymion
And echoing dialogues that I sung along.
They tinkled on the phonolite ahead
As falling gems of the golden oreide,
Of the one you wore around the neck
For years, I couldn’t quite forget.
I sat on the log, contoured and damp,
As mire dried beneath my nails,
From a scalariform tree, jumped a ted
On foot to his abode, parallel to my thread.
A six-fold icicle tumbled down a bough,
Showing the mound I once insisted we go
Through tedded grass left in rows
But you not at all agreed, though!
I used to doze on your lap in this arch,
Now I rest on this friendless bark
Amid hums and echoes conveying lack
Of you, your buried yarns rolling back.
This day you’re there, upstairs
Your gleaming hair flowing to flares
Caught up cloudscape sketching grace
I see you smile in your matching lace.
Well! I made this cream puff at home
As you did once I felt alone
But no! No note or payphone can inform
“I just miss you, Grand mom!”
Belonging to the valley of Gods, Kullu, Priya is a damsel in her late teenage. Presently, she is pursuing a B.Tech degree in Computer Science and Engineering at NIT Hamirpur, Himachal Pradesh, India.