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Raj:
Here is the true description of life in the US in the form of poetry....
The old house
The other day, as I drove past my old house
a nostalgia of the yesteryears flooded my mind
With my little girl, not-so-little now,
I cherished the moments
When she was little,
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 and Thanksgiving feastings
Christmas Carols and 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 the perennials appeared
year after year just as the nature would have them appear
The unrelenting 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 where my little one leaped to life
It was where 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 was dimly lit as the sun had traveled around
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 was the dogwood that always bloomed last
But the swing set so lonely
awaited its occupants from the past
Almost everything seemed the same
Except it wasn’t our home anymore…
Sujata
