Roots Up There(#11)

Memories of childhood

No, not a fable
In mindful state
Perched on
grandpa’s shoulder blade
Going to fair
in faraway glade,
Propelling flywheel
looking up to sky
oblivious to earthly guile,
Spin top precessing
teasing focus of eyes,
Buying a wooden cart
drumming sonorous
with moving wheels,
Licking a flavored disc
of grated crisp ice,
Eagerly waiting for
effigies to ignite
as fireworks initiate
leaving ramlila ground
urgently soon

Bioscope giving away
dreams for a dime,
that cuboid chest
holed by circles
Spilling images
in soil of imagination,
shuffled to periphery
in pixels of space
on tangent of time,
Muffled by coins
thrown at the bottom
of age’s azure rise,
For sake of garland
enduring pricks,
Humans, plants, birds
born to coexist,
Fables, stories
wrapped in razai,
waking with sunrays
sleeping under moon

Colorful spectrum
or splash of greys
tones, tints, values
blurred by resolution
Fights, bonding,
thumbs up
lubing the contusion,
In metamorphosis
scrambled yet intact,
Weaved in the web
Immersed in consonance
Viewing through pinhole
In retrospect
warp ends peeling
weft sinking down
Of a treasured loom,
Glacier up there
impregnable though
Saturating spirit
with bliss and boon.