The below is a first person account of a village tree who lost the friendship of a small boy to the big charm of the city..
* * *
At day break, I wait for your shrill cries of laughter to pierce my ears..
I ponder while I drink the primary cocktail,
a gleaming red sun, the blue sky and the green field..
The train passes by mocking at me.. It’s whistle..
tells me a story of how you disappeared in the dark of the night..
I tell him, you and I are friends.. And that we are inseparable..
I decide to wait.. longing for a glimpse of
the farmer, the cart, the buffalo, a nursing mother,
the sounds of the mud vessels, the village gossip..
My afternoon in the tedium,
I stare at the vast earth in front of me..
An old man…
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