The Pebbled road beneath

The Pebbled road beneath short poem

Photo by martinak15

The pebbled road beneath my feet feels fresh,
The calluses account for the miles they have tread.
The path contours my tiny feet,
Running patter towards the country fair.
Rushing into the mangrove,
I feel the wet grass tickle my bare legs.
Gurgling with the roaring river,
its white waters frothing effervescently…
Like my childish heart,
It roars to unknown destinations,
Leaving a part of itself on every grain along the way.
A bit like me.
I see the temple vividly!
Smell the incense,
See the bent old lady,
Listen to the clanging of the bells!
My senses are drenched and yet the aged sun sucks up all the moisture.
Now callused, but older feet tread the road,
So stiff, difficult to be contoured.
Where do I run to?
Back to the Valley?
I seek the echoes resonating in the hills.
They swell, then ebb, then die out.
I have seen it hiding in the hills,
Sometimes it screams like a banshee.
The cobbled road is still fresh,
The wet grass still tickles my feet,
Only the walls within, deny it expression,
I let it ebb away.
The young meets the old,
The two merge and I am whole again.
My childhood is with me to stay.

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2 Comments on "The Pebbled road beneath"

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The visual is wonderful and the nuances beneath some words are like punch lines!


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