Every day of the week I see
Him sitting there.
With bricks kept one
Upon the other,
Like a charcoal mine;
With a skewer
On which lies all kinds of shape and size,
Some round,
Some long,
Some sleek,
Some stout,
Some like tongues.
He keeps the fire burning,
Till the end of time.
Besides the convent wall
The same I used to see,
Forty years back.
Besides my convent wall
The man with his skewer,
And a long beard
And a grill made of bricks.
Nostalgia to the core
My mind bore.
A scene which I saw
When I was a little girl.
I see it when my little girl
Goes to school.
The same kind of a picture
The same kind of a man
With his long beard
Sits besides the skewer and grill
Made of brick.
Besides the convent wall.
Alas! It is the nostalgic past
If we could undo it.
And go back into times,
It brings us fond memories.
© -Anjana Pai.
