A grain of sand I place on my palm
To feel its heaviness, when alighting
From my old bicycle I smell the scent
Of the earth of my land- that lies fresh
On the landscape of my imagination.
I caress the swinging stalks holding
Ripe grains and spreading sheets of
Gold in the warmth of morning light,
And rush towards the shining water
Flowing as a stream to get a wash in
Its blameless purity to feel that I have
Come to search the place of my origin.
Balancing myself with arms open wide
I run on the narrow path dividing lands
To the far end of the field where seeing
Me, he left uprooting weeds to hold me
In a tight embrace and smiling in mirth
We moved in circles till the earth began
To swing with us; we fell on the wet soil,
I on top of him, tickling each other till
A drop of tear rolled down my fluffy cheek
And I cried, ‘No more Grandpa, no more.'
@ Anil Kumar Panda 04/01/2016
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem