The ReturnA Poem by RoopalLets embrace the past.He sits beside the window, glancing at the meadow, the glassy brook flows loudly beside, the pebble are smooth and whisper of the history. He looks outside at the grove passing by, the shadows are playing with patterns, the invisible tree-lined path goes through the middle. The farmers sit relaxed from the works of a good day, the scarecrow did his job well, as the peasant kids wave at him, he waves back. He looks at the sun dipped in a crimson red, as the clouds carve patterns on their canvas, he can hear the lonely bird screech at the skein ahead. A sigh, and he closes his eyes, he takes a deep breath of that holy air, the scent engulfs his body and soul. The familiar smell takes him to a world apart, diminishing images flash and fade away, and he regains that long lost feeling of safety. He can remember those long summer days, when he crawled up that tree, those evening meals when they ate sweet potato together, he can listen the lullabies from that dark windy night. As he approaches, the images get clearer. A sigh, and he opens his eyes, a glance at his watch and there is a smile on his face. He sits beside the window and looks at the meadow, it is dark now but a moonlit night, the stars have never twinkled brighter. The feeling of comfort intoxicates him, the folds on his forehead have gone, leaving behind traces of their existence, there is that sparkle in his eyes that I thought he lost. The roads tend to get familiar with every crossing mile, the side walls of his old school are higher, the finger unknowingly keeps pointing at images from memory. Now the smile is a grin, that sparkle is a tear, His home is still far, yet so near. R.S. © 2013 RoopalAuthor's Note
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