Guardian’s rocking
horse.
That was the sturdy, painted Rocking Horse,
The centre of
attraction for the number of
Children and
grandchildren cared by grandfather
and grandmother, each tending and placing their
grand kids
on the colour ful horse,
rocking from sideways, hiding their age,
playing along
with them. Three generations
preserved the
emblem of joy
and play and
recreation
and retrace their lineage . One
of the forefathers,
chipped the old, mango tree
thick
with the dexterous axe
of the ebullient
carpenter singing
a song always chipping
and polishing. Then yellow
and red painting
went into the
structure ready to fly for the
sake of children.
The Dream
Horse always
entered into their
life of living, lore, a
rocking horse
rocking the
entire clan. I have heard of war horses,
Cavalry, horses trained into tents
of my ancestral village,
The grass
and green smell of those tents
Still pierce
my nostrils into furthering
into the
inmate’s shape and purpose, the saddle to
My childish curiosity drove
me to study
The horse.The
Rocking horse
and
the habituated horse In tent in war field.
They
are silent ruminators. Fast fliers. Rock! Rock!
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