The Fond Memories Of My Village! Poem by Ravi Kopra

Travelling by train I saw
the city at a distance -
skyscrapers, bending blacktop roads
a sea of humanity -
viewing all this made me uneasy.

In my small village
there was nothing like this.
It was in the lap of mountains
roads made of stones.
My teeth would chatter in bitter cold there
I would shake in cold winds
I would get restless to leave the village.
I had seen a city and had dreamed of living there.

I turned twenty and moved into the city.
Suddenly the village seemed like a
strange place and the city became my home.

Life's hard journey unfolded on the city streets.
The cars in the distant seemed like contraptions of murder.
I felt myself as a stranger in the crowded streets.
Narrow gulleys, stinking sewage, a small house
were enough to shatter my spirits of city dwelling.

My village surfaced in my memories -
fresh air, everybody friendly, everybody feeling at home.
Times have now changed. I left my village behind.
What are left with me are the fond memories of my village!