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They were left alright

By Rajnish Mishra

I sat and watched, distracted, from out of the moving

bus window. I had passed on that road through those

fields and mustard flowers, dried sugarcane leaves

and burnt stalks many a time before this afternoon,

but never had I felt like I felt today. I looked at the green

fields planted with I know not what, and row after row

of trees, young trees, with no leaves, brown shades

against jubilant sap green, and I was thrown back

to those childhood afternoons, with me fixed at my

window seat, eyes fixed at the distant huts, trees green fields,

silver streams I had the first and last glimpse

of in my journey, receding fast. I was happy

those afternoons, and I was happy this afternoon.

I had lost all hope for it, so finding happiness surprised me.

Life can spring such surprises even at the veterans.

Then I counted my blessings and found out

there were a few left.

They were left alright.

Rajnish Mishra is a poet, writer, translator and blogger born and brought up in Varanasi, India and now in exile from his city. His work originates at the point of intersection between his psyche and his city. He edits PPP Ezine.

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