The birds has flocked without warning,
So, on a fine summer morning,
I saw Grandpa making the scarecrow,
A hominid being, with limbs and head,
Probably with feelings too,
I never knew,
The wood and hay bundle formed the hands,
And a rustic earthen pot,
On the top,
Was the head.
He painted the eyes, a nose and a mouth,
While I observed him intently,
From a metre away,
"He has no hair, Grandpa" I said in dismay.
And he chuckled loudly, he lifted me in his frail arms,
"Well it'll grow some like we all do,"
"If not, he'll be bald," I giggled.
The next day when I woke up,
The house was ringing loud,
the mourning and the cries,
But was the pain going to suffice?
"Grandpa has left us," Mother told me,
With tears trickling from her eyes.
I ran to the field, only to find,
Disentangled ropes on the head of the scarecrow,
I smiled.
I knew not back then,
That I'll never see Grandpa ever again.
Years passed, he was thriving
In our memories, in our talks,
In the heart of his folks...
In the little unforgettable moments,
It seems like he has come to life for a while,
And when I look at the hairy scarecrow,
I do nothing but smile.
-aditi
YOU ARE READING
Wavering Starlight
Poetrymy emotions are bubbling through my veins, stars with love, and darkness with pains, here am I with pen between my teeth, and a rustic paper drenched in my ink, letting all my emotions sink... welcome to a poetic voyage to my world !
