Wednesday, September 22, 2010

A silent wind

Every time we made the train journey
To where my father grew up
I never wanted it to end.
It was fun to watch the trees run
With you and stand panting
Unable to catch up with you
The explanation that they were still
And it was only you moving
Seemed like the lie adults usually tell.
The wind played with you
As you sat by the window
Filling your sleeves
And keeping it fluttering like a flag
You wondered if the unseen friend
Was the same that flew your kites
Would they believe you
If you told them
You could hear him laughing?
The wind doesn't laugh anymore
For you have grown up
And the others have got off.

2 comments:

Balachandran V said...

And in the night, as the train puffed on, your shadow on the smooth ridges by the side, then twisting, then turning, then flattening out and then disappearing altogether and you waited for your friend to come back... the charcoal flecks in your eyes and the smell of burnt metal...

Those were great days, weren't they, Prabhakar? At times, I miss them so much...

Prabhakar said...

Yes. your word picture is much better. my father was in the railways. we used to come for vacation in Trivandrum. we used to play football with cousins in the model school in Thycaud.