The Past Glory Of My Village Poem by DILIPBHASKER MATHRA

My stagnant memory kept me close to the
Ambit of my village Mathra that I preferred
To call along with my name,
Which is familiar to all my friends
And unfamiliar to those strangers
Whom I met and talked often.

I deliver with pride and ease
Of that name in every conversation or
In all sorts of simple exposure of its poor
As I am the native of that village
Where once existed an old primary
school building
In the shape of a preserved structure
Which had been once a giant sight for
Simple natives or even pedestrians
Who happened to pass through here,
And the grand peepal tree interlocked
Beneath the sky with its umbrella shaped foliage.
In my memory still I see that tree
With benevolent honour which had jewelled
The village for many years.

The school just opposite was a martyrium
Of boyhood days of many like me,
But now both vanished behind
The dark canopy of bygone years
The school lost its privilege and moved
To the back yard of a new building
And the old building demolished.

Like crumbling of the glorious past.
The tree depleted to make way for
The road being made to improve public comfort.
Since then the village struggled constantly
To regain its lost identity.

Everything of the past still touching my mind
Once again with immortality
And making their ways through my dream.
My woe is about the infamy waiting to
Creep over my village to suppress its tranquillity,
Which longing in my listless mind and ask
How shall I ever win back its past glory
To keep my earnest wish to sustain
Mathra as an unforgotten identification
with my name.