A Treasure of Memories
At will, I dig into that treasure of memories
Built at home till my early twenties…
Cycling to school at eight in the dense fog,
Wearing a short skirt and a maroon knitted top.
I guess all the exercise warmed me up,
Wore no stockings, scarf, cap or gloves.
Bare headed, hair flying in the air
We raced with gusto, had no care.
Rushed home and hurriedly ate snacks,
With the school bag still on my back.
Before I knew, my friends would call,
And I would run out to play basket ball.
Wildly chase each other and plot and scheme,
Daring the boys to play with an all girls team.
In summer vacations, we were up on the trees,
Neighbours would call us a bunch of monkeys.
Or aim at unripe mangoes with one eye closed
While the gardener took his siesta and dozed…
Oh, what fun it was to plunder and steal
And later bite into it after rubbing salt on peal.
Wistfully, I think of children in sky scrapers,
Do they miss open spaces and wonders of nature…?
poem by Mamta Agarwal
Added by Poetry Lover
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