I returned to my roots, A village where I grew up. But I couldn’t see the village, For that village is now lost. Never again to re-emerge. To what it was six decades back. The trees, the shrubs and the
beaten paths And the canopy of greens, a sight
unmatched. I searched for the place where the
village was. The landmark rock I couldn’t find. The rivulets flowing disappeared, No sign of the village where I grew up. The whiff of air that invigorated
us Now was thick with a rancid smell. I looked around for the coconut
palms, None were there except a dried-out
stump. The lush green village is now a
jungle, Not with trunks, stems and leaves, But with buildings of iron and
cement Packed like a stack of cards. Meadows, fields and hillocks Levelled and cleaned Without even a blade of grass. Valleys flattened and rivulets
filled. No more birds, no more bees, No more monkeys, no more peacocks. The chirping of sparrows and cooing
of cuckoos, All fell into silence as the new world
took over. The bullock carts and horse carts Leisurely treading on beaten paths,
now no more. It is motor cars and trucks Zipping through the highways. Give me back my village The village where I grew up, Let me tread on beaten paths, To breathe a whiff of fresh air.
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