A road is like time. Both have a past and a
present and they continue into infinity. If roads could speak, they would have
many stories to tell us – of triumph and defeat, of joy and sorrow, of love and
loss, of peace and strife - of the people who travelled them in the past. And there would be stories of the birds and the bees, the flowers and the trees, and the fallen leaves.
A busy street is intricately interwoven with a million stories – the stories of the street vendors, traders, and the people going up and down the street, each with a past and a present, rushing towards their separate futures.
A busy street is intricately interwoven with a million stories – the stories of the street vendors, traders, and the people going up and down the street, each with a past and a present, rushing towards their separate futures.
And each story weaves into several other
stories, on other roads, in other cities, from other times. Forget your own
story for a while as you walk down a street, tuning into the hundreds of
stories that surround you. Feel new stories being created every minute, of
which you are now a part.
It was such a morning in Pondicherry. I was
standing in front of a tea stall like several others who stopped by, enjoying a
hearty sip. The street was overhung by the soft rays of the sun and the aura of a colonial past. A new story was forming, deftly entwined, charmingly entangled with
so many others. Call it an epic, if you will.
Pondy*
Roads
write an epic
Of
the evolution of an ethos
Every
bend a turning point
To
flick to another page
To
another age,
Trees
bend, heavy,
Laden
with memories
Laying
shadowed margins -
The
walkways of passing years,
Leaves
are hushed whispers
Under
the city’s breath
Of
ancient secrets hidden
Between
the lines of time,
Flowers
beckon, beseech
Falling
at your feet
To
take a fleeting peek
Into
the city’s history,
Around
every wall
Behind
every bolted door
Slipping
through the window
Peeping
through the shades
There’s
a story in every street.
*Pondicherry,
popularly known as Pondy, is an erstwhile French colonial settlement in South
India.
Loved, reading it as this opens the closed doors of memories.
ReplyDelete🖕 Margret, here.
ReplyDeleteGlad you could relate to it, Margret.
DeleteYes.
ReplyDeleteThere is a story in every street.
And every bend a turning point.
Superb !