by Ashweein Narayanan
Wooden steps lead,
To the house, at the end of the lane,
The one that boasts a wonderful yard,
The one that boasts a wonderful garden,
The very same one, on stilts,
The one that subsisted through age,
And has remained unbothered.
Our tharavadu, our one solace,
The same one our Muthiamma and Muthacha built,
During the occupation of the Nippon,
A sanctuary for their safety, just a basic roof over their heads,
Transforming into our holiday haven,
As we precariously try to rouse our Acha from his
The creaks of the wooden steps give us away;
For we are trying to deceive him on his turf,
Obviously a foolish, yet amusing attempt.
And as our parents put us to sleep,
When night falls, we remain as restless as the jungle critters,
For our bedtime stories of the struggle and battles in the army,
Acha never fails to put a smile on our faces;
Before veils of darkness cover our eyes and we journey into
The realm of dreams.
And this makes him realize,
This very house, the one at the end of
The lane in Pekan Labu,
Does not stand strong because of the stilts,
Nor is it timber that hold the house in place;
It is the unbreakable bond,
The eternal, immortal, everlasting bond
© Ashweein Narayanan 2010
He is currently studying in Nottingham University, pursuing a degree in Mechanical Engineering. His major inspirations are life happenings and occurrences in the 19 years of his less than perfect life, jotted down in a journal which became a book of poems.