The Old Milkman! Poem by ANANDA GOPAN

(In memory
of that beloved
milkman...)

An early cycle bell,
A smoke with with my grandpa,
near the old well...
It was his routine for the last
eleven-
years i knew him.

His name is something
nobody knows...
Because of his early bells and coughs,
everybody calls him, the old clock...

His deep coughs
used to wake me up every morning
His smiling face in the dawn
his lovely face in my lawn,
Every day, it was big fun!

He is around eighty,
But still he covers around thirty
houses everyday,
giving milk to every bay

I have last seen him,
a week ago
looking quite weak-
even to push his cycle
from then,
there was no cycle bells,
nor his smiling face
I could hear whispers,
from my mother
whenever
i pulled his name to the corner
I could hear noting
from my father,
even when he is in the parlor

At last,
one day,
my father said
'He had gone west,
into the dust'
when i looked at my mother,
she whispered,
'The old clock stopped'

Without a word to me,
not even smiling at me,
He had gone to the dry land,
sailing in the dust

with a dropp of tear,
still-
believing that he is near,
as a layer,
as some care..
i can just say..
'good bye,
my dear old clock'