Diya Singh
A million more wheels whirled their way out on that colourless broken Street which your childhood was all about
For every billion beautiful feet half a billion beautiful faces
Thousands thrilled knees have fallen on the cement where you fell on your laces
It has been ages.
As my tired feet touch the street
The street touch my heart too
For what it's worth you must know that broken Street isn't broken anymore
The cement of the road is as hard as diamond
The fruit vendor walks with his dripping charm
There I see a crosswalk a late passenger a little running boy, there is no harm
If I turn the calendar
January is for wool vendors
Book shops own march
A little ice cream in June
maybe vanilla maybe chocolate or maybe a little butterscotch
Garlands and gifts in October
Violet wine in December
If you're still breathing
I must let you know
The dreamers are still dreaming
I saw a young boy of eight or nine
Running and jumping and then falling down
The walls on the corner which reflected your breaths
Are reflecting his too
The glitter in his cryst eyes is still alive
Just like you
Are you remembering something?
Well, now I see man of twenty
Walking on that street slowly
With a whole lot of luggage
He doesn't know from now on
Every station, he'll have to carry some baggage
Do I tell him?
I don't think so.
I'll only go to him, twenty years from now and tell him how
A million more wheels whirl their way out
On that little less colourless Street which his childhood was all about.