Opening Page

Opening Page

 

 

Memory I stretch

to make a sketch

“ How had I begun

my marathon run

to be a man, wise

and life, I glamourize

cramming at heart

subjects dreadful and tart.

denting at math, rock hard,

tastes trapping me off guard.

the trauma of examination.

on result, the apprehension

with no Pc and internet to aid

at those days, I am dismayed.”

But today, the child in me

sees a child with bent knee

carrying at his back a ton

bereft of my childhood fun

inside and outside the class

with classmates en mass

in frenzy he fancies his days

that at this age I often craze.

With three circles on a slate

began I my journey to shape my fate

repeating lines on the figures

with tightly held fingers

chanting loud, then thinning it to whisper

“Brahma Bishnu Maheswar”

three forms of the creator

learning the humility of surrender.

Dozing off at evening session

after the afternoon play and run

and the cane of teacher and dad’s anger

to the lord to save me was my only prayer.

Slates and chalks exist no more

but with them my tryst, I adore

though I broke them many

framing the pleas of pardon funny

grieving at the loss and the lapses

managed them I, new as per choices.

Still I enjoy cherishing the respite

in cleaning the slate and drying it

To dry the slate, the rhyme

still in my heart, they chime.

With promotion to class upper

used I inkpot, pen, and paper.

Inkpot, drip-in pen, and blotting paper

have vanished with a blackened finger.

Pen has seen many an evolution

through bird’s feather from pointed iron

to fountain pens and ball pens of fashion

now fading with web and net communication.

The ink from tablet to powder and water

replaced by inkpot with ink superior

not clotting the pen and inking the hand

in market flourished then many a brand

The spillage of inkpot and the dirt, black

to the success in the exam, is a symbolic mark.

The pages without a picture

afflict me with monotony and torture.

At those pages doze comes on its own

after abortive attempts to stop the yawn

The ceremonies in the school

with their grandeur over my heart still rule.

From lower school to high school then to college

joys emotions and acts varied with age

But look I with fun at my primary stage

with friends classmates frim my village

with whom I grew from the crawling age

is something unique, to life, my opening page.

 

P K Routray

in the service of Lord