55 Fiction # 7 - Kumbh Mela – Holy Dip

Hundreds of Thousands had gathered. It comes once in every 12 years. They had all descended from around the world to take the holy dip and get rid of all the sins. Now all left to do was to think where to take a dip to wash all their sins for polluting the Holy Ganga.

My Village Cottage

It had been years,

Since he descended here,

In his home town

everything he could call,

his own there

From the station,

he hopped in the car,

destination was not very far

His cousin at the wheel,

drove him through the town

they set on to the road home

he didn’t want to do it alone

It was a remote village,

when he had left in times old

Now it was no way near,

what it was before

everything villagers owned,

had changed hands

was virtually sold

But, in his area

nothing had moved,

things had changed,

only a little

few falling apart,

rest was nicely aging

As he passed his school,

got lost in memory pool

Those were the days,

he called heaven, when

he was considered a dude, cool !!!

On the next turn

was that old castle

were arguments, in fights

used to turn

but friends ultimately

had their differences burn

Further on the node

was the family owned plot

were his father laid to rest

were the time spent

was always the best

to be there again

he felt truly blessed

From a distance

I could be seen

To see him come

a dream it had been

he entered the courtyard

where he had been wean

Covered in weeds

the gate is rusting,

Old Mahoney was dying,

Wooden fence requires painting,

All of it he has patiently seen

Still I’m full of life,

Not a dull moment, here

there's ever been

My walls have seen it all,

through it, they have stood tall

In my hall,

Opinions differed,

There were fights,

at times, rages soared

things went overboard

in the end,

everything was resolved

with equal vigor,

success and happiness

was rejoiced

nothing has ever been told,

close to my heart, everything I hold

always protected

secured, they felt inside

In days of glory,

& in solitary

I have always beamed

Every room has an untold story

Every wall a buried memory

                                                                           ~KARAN

This post is part of the contest Tell a Tale on WriteUpCafe.com

First Blogger Award

These days I wasn’t getting time to blog, not that I am not scribbling; it’s just that I’m not able to post it all here. And suddenly one day I receive a mail informing me that I have been nominated for an award…my very first in the blogging world…my happiness was sky high…it was a feeling of recognition …it was slowly sinking…and now I am here writing it down abiding by the rules.