Kadala, salty and sandy,
In paper cones like the upturned hats of clowns
Thrust into waiting hands,
Little waiting hands
Crunched and swallowed in minutes.
Enjoying their moments of togetherness in solitude.
Chubby-cheeked cousins playing -
Making sand-castles?
The older few walking and talking seriously -
About communism?
Her little poetic mind admiring the setting sun
As it sunk slowly beneath the rippling water in the horizon.
Describing the beauty of the scene to herself in hushed whispers -
She couldn’t wait to transcribe the image
To her prized diary (for her eyes only).
Then her married cousins shouted:
What are you doing standing there alone?
This is Kerala. People are looking at you.
2 comments:
Stop picking on poor kerala.
I'm not picking on it. It's autobiographical, this poem.
So now what do you have to say?!!!
Post a Comment