Composed by: Santanu Phukan, Retd Professor, Cotton University, Guwahati, Assam, India
This poem was written after a recent trip to Jorhat, the town in Upper Assam, India where I grew up. Like all other towns in the state, it is developing at a pace that is rapidly eroding its uniqueness and transforming it into what I can only call a clone.
In a land
Without a name
Lies a memory
A little lame
As I step into that land
Of majestic trees aligned
Along streets wide,
Tendrils and vines
Unwrap themselves
From the memories
Of trees
They’ve so long
Clung on to.
From behind the rows
Of the majestic trees
Stately bungalows beckon
With the lure
Of a mysterious yore.
And a score
Of memories
Mingle
With the shingles.
Deep in the dusk
Beneath the green canopy
Green teardrops fall
And each drop reflects
Bygone faces
Of friends
Remembered,
Recalled ,
Or forgotten.
Each face a part
Of a heart
That longs for that
Long lost land
That lost it’s name.
(Copyright reserved)
