My City Of Old
I was in Delhi, the city of my birth;
I had asked my son to take me there,
We took the road to travel.
Strangely, the first-morning tea,
It did not revive old memories,
I found nothing to gloss over;
And I wasn't surprised.
The faces I saw were tense,
But not eager;
The city skyline had altered,
But not its air.
It was not the city I had left,
A lively and throbbing hotbed
Where the rulers and those to be,
Unique merriment was rife,
Its residents wrote and cited poems;
I miss those days.
Monday, March 15, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: memoir