Let us go then You and I

 

Let us go then, you and I,

when the road uncoils like a thought not yet spoken,

past many trees holding their breath

and houses that may never care to know us.

 

The morning bursts here

not with sirens and screeches

but like an old sentence

with refreshed vigour.

 

Men and women are in a hurry

though this is just a village.

Schools, colleges, and offices

beckon everyone

like sirens on the ancient island.

 

A decade has gone by from

when you and I walked

a serene campus

that was encroached

rather abruptly by

some religious faces

with plastic smiles

and poisonous hearts.

 

Today, the village road looks at me

without recognition.

A wall is being painted saffron.

The paint is still wet.

 

PS. A niece of mine gifted me a phone holder for my car and I chose to try it out by videographing my morning ride to Maggie’s school (which was mine too till the other day). As I watched the video, the above poem emerged somewhere within me…

The poem's Eliotean touch may be excused, I hope.

I have doubled the speed of the video to shorten it. My actual drive to school is 5-6 minutes.