I count for folds
of time
dusting old albums
blowing open sepia…
…The pedestal fan whirrs
noting the stillness, waiting
for seconds to
tick the day
I cup the sunbeam
filtering in the
room
through glass
roof – tiles
sparrow chirps
break the noon
silence…
…The pedestal fan whirrs
in semi-circle views of milieu
holding to tests of time, people
Through the bamboo
blinds
I count the
footsteps
pressing the
sparkling grains of mud
waiting for an
umbrella shadow…
…The pedestal fan whirrs
integrating me with corners
that house wrinkled journeys
Grandparent’s youth
stays framed
in b & w on the
old- white wall
present in seeming
absence
of any
acknowledgement…
…The pedestal fan whirrs
capturing the corridor miles
immeasurable in memories
Fanned by coconut
leaves
the stone in the
backyard remains
barred idyllic,
standing with children
shuddering to
grandpa’s admonition…
…The pedestal fan whirrs
seeping in a mundane routine
yet, not skyscraper(ed)
pursuits
The pedestal fan
whirrs
those summers noon
even today…
…That pedestal fan whirrs
no longer
smiles...they are good memories to carry...i like the split of the poem and how you bring them both together there in the end with the link of that fan...i have some great memories of a summer with my great uncle that i carry with me often...
ReplyDeleteExcellent description! I have a place like this too, where I visit my grandparents.. not every summer now though, of course.. it's a distinct childhood memory, and you captured it so well, I feel my memory mingling with your poem! The bamboo blinds, pedestal fan, all setting the scene of hot Indian summers... Fantastic!
ReplyDeletethis is a beautiful capture of your memories akila... reminded me of the summers i spent with my grandparents on their farm in bavaria..
ReplyDeleteI really enjoyed the way you've repeatedly returned to the motif of the whirring fan between the stanzas that capture your memories.
ReplyDeleteIs there any chance of hearing you read it?
Beautiful and very atmospheric poem, Akila! I can hear and see the fan. I like the form you chose as well as the wistful memories and images.
ReplyDeleteGreat capture of your memories.
ReplyDeleteI like the ephemeral feel of this poem - a bit like our lives.
ReplyDeleteI like the refraining lines of the pedestal fan whirling ~ It speaks of the time passing, before and after ~ Enjoyed the details of your summer memories ~
ReplyDeleteGrace
Is it the end of summer there? I didn't realize you were "upside down to us" as well as Australia/New Zealand etc. I always thought India had completely different kinds of seasons - exotic, rainy, brilliant, and cool...ha! A romantic picture undoubtedly of the subcontinent which in itself is so varied. I love the look inside a home you loved and stayed in. Cool shadows and fond memories still dwell within!
ReplyDelete