Imagining My Village
When I recall it,
Looks like a colored kite.
I lost its hold in an afternoon,
Went on running after it,
Knowing a little where I was heading for.
I didn't count the numbers of river I crossed,
Left behind dark jungles,
Shades of rainbows in azure sky.
The kite disappeared from the sight
And I returned helplessly.
When I visualize it,
Looks like an old school mate
Whom I met in a crowded market
Scuffling with others.
I saved him from the fracas.
When I smiled at him,
He failed to recognize me
And mistook me as another hooligan
And threw an odious look
Before leaving the place.
When I go watching it,
Looks like an abstract painting
That I enjoy seeing for hours
But fail to understand accurately.
Does it behave like a whore
That reveals her sick drive
After spending the night?
Even though a lost kite, a recalcitrant friend,
An abstract painting or an infectious whore-
My village grows silently within me
Day after another
Hardly waiting for my say-so.
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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