Reunion

Why do you cringe
at the memory
of the road-side tea stall
and those clay cups
and the lorry drivers
and the dust storms
and the sultry summer afternoons
and the knee deep ditch water
in the monsoon
and your sheepish grin
when you borrowed money
for the evening meals?
 
Were you lying, then
when you said that all sleek,
accented, Toyota-types
loot the country,
exploit the poor,
forget their culture
and have no manners al all?
 
Seeing you now, years later,
I doubt my memories.
 
Was it really you
who had said
that poetry becomes me,
and that my talent
weighs more than all the gold
of that oily fatso
who used to live near the bazaar-
or was it someone else
who had said that,
a lifetime ago?
 
Why did you not bring
your shiny wife and your fat kids
to show them
our roadside tea stall?
And, come to think of it,
Why did you park your Toyota
so far off the road?
 
Why do you cringe
at the memory
of your own words?
Memories,
that I lovingly guarded
all my life,
memories,
that made me remain
at this tea stall
all my life?
 
***
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About Abhishek

I will let the blog speak for itself...or, at times, for me. View all posts by Abhishek

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