The other day,
a nostalgia of the yesteryears flooded my mind
as I with my little girl, not-so-little now,
drove past our old house.
I cherished the moments when,
the corridors echoed with her sweet crooning
and the household bustled with multiple activities.
Then as now, the autumn arrived
as bright red and yellow leaves fell to the ground
saying so-long…with a subtle hint in the air,
that winter was somewhere just around the corner.
Haunted Halloweens, pumpkin patches,
Diwali greetings, Thanksgiving feastings,
Christmas Carols, the Easter baskets,
the weekend games and the neighborhood yard sales.
The daily rush of life with yearnings of back home,
from here to there and there to here,
the warmth it contained made it home sweet home.
Out in the front lawn year after year,
Nature’s perennials would appear.
The stubborn patch of crabgrass, the maple tree,
the bluebirds, butterflies and the orioles,
blooms of multi colors, danced in harmony
as if to welcome the spring’s bounty
dainty white, pink and purple azaleas
The lavenders, the roses, the irises and the lilies
The daffodils, tulips and honeysuckle strands.
The dawns filled with hope
and the dusks with anticipation,
it always felt like home sweet home.
It was here
my little one leaped to life,
it was here
I realized the deeper meaning of life,
of love and endurance, of eternal bliss
of the real, the ordinary and falsehood abound.
Shades of people and emotions alike
The cul-de-sac beamed with energy
of the tiny tots and adults alike.
I remembered the deck
we had so enjoyed with dear friends,
sometimes pale from the hot summer sun,
other times laden with harsh winter snow.
The children’s swing set in the backyard
and my stint, that one-year as a vegetable grower,
mustard, tomatoes, peppers and greens
in the hope to cure my nostalgia so evergreen.
The house dimly lit with the sun going down,
windows open, as cool breeze blew around.
Just as always there were sights and sounds,
as new and old still clung around.
A bright red, white and blue-stripped flag now stood in the ground,
but the saris on the cloth line were no where to be found.
There stood the dogwood that always bloomed last,
the swing looked lonely without its occupants from the past.
Almost everything seemed the same,
except it wasn't our home anymore...