A POEM ON

Memories of my small village

and the aspects I miss.

At the end of the fog awakening, I went back to my small village through the memory lane. Searching the young leaves, big trees around- Nearby the vast plain valley. On the sun touched paths, throughout the green shadows. Small Chitra River was flowing, The Fish market crowded with thousands of people - With their tales, in their novels. The spiking smoke from the Tea Kettle, Becoming unwritten history of people. The whims of naughty kids, Lozenges, ice creams, and chocolates. Shoppers were shouting, ‘Do you need bangles, cheap bangles!’

The fragrant aroma of the village welcomes you on the way. Clay crafted paths towards our home- Crop fields, rice husks glistening in the sun. After crossing a few paddy fields In the middle of the greenish sparks, with the chirping of the birds- There lies our village home. With the rice stored house, with the wood stored room, Surrounded by the green fields, With our small pond. Our basil courtyard, a small temple, the beautiful aroma in the evening, the hours of worship. The pies and cakes prepared by my Grandma. My Grandfather’s bag of stories.

Hot steamed rice, Fresh green curry, fried pond fish on our plates. Village dogs roaming the yard. Cattle herd, with the bells around their neck, And the dusty game of our childhood.

Where did I lose it? The tune of my village, My childhood, My lost hours.

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Suntonu Bhadra is a 2020 joined writer in Medium, who loves to learn from surroundings and world wide web. He is a Business Consultant in the profession, a mentor of Sales productivity & a traveler by heart. In his newfound love- ‘Medium’, he is expressing his thoughts and is looking forward to engaging.