if i could speak to you in poetry
i would speak of the rustic poems,
that the mango rains and scorching sun
composed for us once upon a time.
when we tiptoed out of home in the afternoon
and ran barefeet unto the meadows
teasing the cows and playing with the herd
our toes playing hide and seek in the grass.
when we chased the sun
and were chased by the moon
we had dreams of running into the horizon...
the chase ended with the day
when the sky grew red
you wanted to gobble up the sun
you said it would taste like a ripe orange
i cried till you said you would spare it for me.
and i smiled as i believed in you.
blowing of conchshells signalled homecoming
as she welcomed the dusk with oil lamps.
we tiptoed into the house once again
waiting for dawn, and waiting for the chase.
our dusty feet, our eyes full of dreams,
had created poems long back...
only today i would like to recite them all to you,
if i could speak to you in poetry.
