Wednesday, April 29, 2009

The village on the forest track.

I lived in the village on the forest track
Where sitting was to have fun
Under the tree where old folks sat staring at the sun
Where Children follow yellow birds to the lake.
In the river they jump to have a break.
But I left that place that village
And here I am in the burg
'cause no longer the rest I could take.
The town is good the town is fast
No one here has the time to stop and ask.
I miss my home, I miss the sea.
I miss that tree,
Where the chirpy birds flew free
Now I am ready. My bags I want to pack
But the path home I can't find back
I guess I should never have left,
"Cause you were there
Screaming at the moon-"Make it rain Honey and Gold."
I never understood how good it was
It never amazed me how precious that was
Now it all seems like a fairy tail
My t-shirt left under the dusty trail
So I know it is real
I am going back
To the village on the forest track.

3 comments:

  1. nice poem...makes me remind of my home in Goa...:)

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  2. A weekend get away and life in it are extreme things, former is so needed, but the later is so not practical, but wanting to have it is so natural. Nice.-Morgan.

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