Come to the verdant
country side,
A
walk by the salving brooks and
Majestic hills, where
medicinal plants grow
Copious and charming, with mystic songs
always transporting you
to a world beyond
your ken and wit; where are those colonies now?
They are dying and defunct
like the dried fallen
Leaves. The quay stones speak
volumes of their
Pride and history ; ruins are our once jewels ;
How often, urchins played
under the tamarind tree,
Young pair of lovers
indulged in romantic songs,
While some others rocked the cradles with sleeping
Babies,
awaiting hot lunch in packs plantain leaves.
I
go back and think of Golden Ages, when
our
Grandparents
voicing from high hills and mountains
Echoing
their cultural grit ever watching us:
I
want to relive those Golden Age.
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