I remain in my fifth year, though,

I wish my years ran past to old

My mother, my love, always near

I want to run and free her hold.

Amidst the field, on a narrow lane,

Breeze of paddy flirting the air,

I am led afar, to my ‘hate(red)’ school,

I want not move on, let me to float.

I slip through the pebbles and peep into the crab holes,

And watch the snail bathe in the marsh

For the ticks and spiders moving around

Tadpoles and fishes join the fray.

Far away on the western side,

A lorry of mud moves for somewhere

Its sound, I hear, disturbed my thoughts

Sprouting a new one to sustain my mind.

Pulling myself to my mother’s stride,

As, tail of the caterpillar, following its head,

My heart pounds hard and skin sweat

As I smell the flavour, of ‘GOOD MORNING’ near.

I reached my school, I talk no more

No friends have I, neither do they,

Quiet and silent, the teacher demands,

Sometimes I hear the lorry again..

Poem by : Mahesh
Email : maheshknair@mailcity.com