A thousand tiny drops splatter on my concrete wall
My eyes identify the sight but my ears feel deceived
I close my eyes and let those drops sink in
I see a girl making paper boats
Her face all bright and lit up
The sound of Boroxun splattering in the tin roofs
Is what makes it alive for her
She colours her boat green out of crayon stubs
She gives a thought and attaches a red flag,
An anchor of hope
And off she runs to a puddle to let it free
The boat glides, Boroxun ceases,
Life happens and the boat is led adrift.
I sense a chill in the humid afternoon,
I open my eyes to face a concrete wall
"It's raining", I tell myself
I close my windows, set my tea to boil,
Put my ear plugs on,
I can't bear the dull thuds of rain on the damp walls
It doesn't sing to me like Boroxun does.
The one thing that I always had dreamt of as a kid was to have a caravan that could take me to places.I always wanted a gypsy styled life. The idea itself mesmerized me to the extent that I kept dreaming of it the whole time not even realising how it was time which kept on rolling but I stood exactly at the same place, my dreams could never concretize. What was laughed at as a childish game was so important to me that I keep doodling it in my memory till now. I see a meadow, lush green with those small daffodils growing by, perhaps Wordsworth's daffodils! Then I see a girl, her wild unkept hair sailing in the gentle breeze. She has a smile which speaks of solitude, and her heart , well that's swelling with happiness as he looks at her caravan, after all she finally has a life on wheels. What more could she wish for, what more can anyone wish for? It's not always that we get to live a life we conceived as a kid, life keeps on deciding our track. From what we liked doing...
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