Cruel Clock

Cruel Clock

P K Routray

In these ripe old days

my childhood memories often blaze

not lost in the mist of memory’s me shy corridor

but dazzle by many dramas enacted with many a co-actor and author.

Funny but sweet are today their recollections

nurtured tinged in then family and society’s affections.

Some enliven me and some embarrass me when they flash back,

as they speak of our art, craft though perfection they lack.

Catching the cat of neighboring girl

hiding it under basket gave me a thrill

telling lies for days together to cover

I find cat embarrassingly again with her.

In summer I slip from the mid day family siesta

hiding from family elders in search of my own vista.

Midday visit to mango groove at the inkling of a friend

we enjoyed the fallen mangoes fooling the guard meant to attend.

Returning with body under mango pulp cover

no water, no trick would hide me from the red eyes of mother.

A slap or two bring out good of me for a day or two

forget we both the punishment after days few.

The theft of guava from an old lady’s tree

was thrilling and tasty for us but her pain now only I can see

as she was earning from the sale of guavas for her survival

we never bothered for that as we thought the God takes care of all.

The long swim and bathe in the deep river

in summer, rain and at midday of cold winter,

copying the answers from copies of studious few

to hoodwink the cane of the teacher were to us never new.

Going to the school daily was monotony for me

but to play there with friends was the silver line there I still see.

Stealing the cycle stealthily from the verandah of unknown guests

we learnt cycling with  wounds and scratches and then lying our bests.

In the dark night the howling of jackles from village cremation ground

I still fear and mentally hear as if they are Satan, ghost and ghoul’s sound.

All these and many more to out flow the space

come to me with an inward urge for me to express.

This is just a line of mine to remind you of your Pondera box

it is worth pondering and recollecting blaming the cruel clocks.