Saturday, February 27, 2010

An Echo in the Vicinity

Rumbling through the woods,
the kid hustled and sang his playtime.
No worries, no temptations, none of
the hefty assignments to dive into.
Running along the road's shoulder;
One step hip; one step hop, he bounced.
The ball on the ground,
in the sky - cheered.

Alas! His was the life, the officer
longed for; had been dying for.
To rhyme the winds, to dirt
his toes, to scratch his elbows.
Poor he, had no choice; but
a dry life - a white shirt, that
remained white east to west.
Never did it get a stain; of joy.

They met one day; reflections.
The elder saw him tender, still
he revoked his step aback.
A smile so fine, is not to a child,
what he longs is a woody playtime.
Ran he, into the field, to his love
the dirt, pebble, dust and scratch.
The other turned; content he moved,
Listening to the echo in the vicinity.

© Rajat Mahajan. 2010


Jenny Enochsson said...

Nice animated feeling in this one. I especially like:

"To rhyme the winds, to dirt
his toes, to scratch his elbows."

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ecstatic shimmeR said...

hey Jenny,
thanks for the comment. sorry, i've been insanely late for a reply.. have been stuck with some projects and seminars for a while now. so a bit lousy with the blog.

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