MY PASTORAL DAYS

MY Pastoral dAYS

A tall shady tree,

A wide open sky,

With a heart logic free,

And a try to fly,

A mile long meadow,

A brook alongside,

Just me and my shadow,

On a peaceful ride,

A bright soft Sun,

A wind from the west,

And acts of childish fun,

And plays of old age rest,

No machines, no bondage,

No timelines and volunteers,

Just those stages of teenage,

Reliving all the years,

Running through the paddy,

Jumping over the hay,

A guava filled caddy,

Eaten all day,

Stitching Banana leaves,

Making a shelter home,

Where everyone believes,

Hebuilt a new “Rome”,

Then riding a neighbor’s Cow,

Like a Bullfighter fear free,

And falling down somehow,

With reddish brown bruised knee,

Making a Hand fan,

FromPapaya leaves near the road,

Pleasing the sweating man,

Whose Cow we often rode,

Six fruit trees I planted;

Farmed various vegetables,

One old rhyme enchanted,

To secure those eatables,

On my dear Mango tree,

Grows two pound heavy fruit,

Which I eat for free,

Unlike the urban pursuit,

Five other I love too,

Blackcurrant and Golden Green Guava,

Banana and Tamarind are other two,

Last is the vast Pale Papaya,

Among these hints and suggestions,

I shall relive these lovely ways;

In the history and tradition,

And pass by my pastoral days…..

                                              -Kishor Jangda