My Childhood Summers! Poem by suhana lulu

My mother's magenta bougainvillea
Marked every onset of summer.
The summer we children wait a whole year
Arrives with full of fruits and flowers.
Children rush to visit their aunt's and maternal homes,
I had no confusion,
I rush to the beautiful village,
Where my godmother would be waiting,
Not just her,
The swampy field,
Clearwater running canal,
Coconut tree trunk little bridge,
And what not,
Mango trees, palm branch slides,
and even the small hill behind her house.
The sound of that village was only a melody
Dawn and dusk divine with songs from a temple.

Few things were different in that house,
Borders and confines,
There, children were not let far
their far was just outside the borders
Borders were beautiful blossomed trees,
That was so near to me,
They were not let outside at noon
They said I played under the sun.

Yes, I played under the sun alone in the afternoon,
But I chased dragonflies,
I found where their grandma's hen hatch her eggs,
I talked to little sunshine flowers and Seeniyas,
And sometimes I ran to reach the canal
and caught little fishes with bare hands.

Back at my home, my mom never hold me back
she had no customs of ceiling us,
so I enjoyed every bit of my own village's beauty.
And when the day ends I ran back home
when I hear the knock on the masjid's mic to recite Azan,
Along with me, I had seen birds flying back to their nests,
The rough landscapes I ran were by-heart then
that I could run my eyes closed.
I rush to my favourite spot at my home, our terrace.
There I watch the few rest of the birds.
When I had the company of my cousins,
I used to narrate the daily stories of those birds
And I tell them
That they were rushing back to home after their tuition classes.

My god mother's house was full with children in summer,
But they step out at evenings,
That was their grandmother's house, not mine,
There they couldn't make loud noises,
But when we, me and my brothers went there it will be 'Vishu'
And the loud noise of those crackers they would never imagine to make sound from there,
the fearsome eyes of grandfather stare us, shouts, but he left us unharmed,
He knew we did all, mischievous undisciplined children he might have thought,
He is my mother's uncle and also my godmother's father by law.
good at heart I came to know that only when he sent riped mangoes
to my home so far and after giving an equal portion to all his twelve children and grandchildren!
those yellow mangoes which we all had eyes when it was raw,
and that broad tree stood shady on the entryway of that house of memories.

Once in a while,
Restrictions are bittersweet and sweet memories forever!
And after all the turmoil we made, we will take the long route bus to our village.
My mother's bougainvillea would be dried by now.

Let me sing raw, my random memories of my yesteryears
Let me fall and lose my consciousness of routines to reach there!