Little temple on the hilltop is fount of my
felicity, noble emblem of home,
I carry as personal property to look back
on splendid childhood in the cherished
domicile of our mother's parents;
Yard full of fruit trees, rose bushes
and jasmine vines that flourished beneath
ceaseless chatter of sparrows, crows,
calls of parrots on guava trees. Besides nurtured
From our backyard we could see the mammoth
gray and black hill some miles away,
bearing little temple on its crown, and stood as
hallmark of region.
Like a palaquin on an accommodating elephant
in religious rituals.
In the dark of night temple lights glistened as an
array of jewels of eminence grise seated on the
edge of provincial.
I augured dancing celestials in the dim lights of
dusk. Lazily waking up under the chilly blanket of
misty dawn sight of hilltop temple assured of its
deity fostering my beloved.
Now the town has expanded, obliterating its brim.
The hilltop temple witnesses calmly the scheme:
Silently disappearing of a generation,
dwindling of farmlands.
Withal I still feel the exquisite allure of locale amidst
of my sojourn.
And certain the hill with its bethel looking after the
town with passion.
Sunday, March 14, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: nostalgia