Squeaky unoiled hinges
Of swings in the park
Sweaty breeze in the face
Games in an idyllic noon
Clang of metallic toy ponies
Multi-hued flying frisbees
Muddy barefoot squeals
Merry-go-round treble
Run and hide, hide and seek
Playing till night descends
Yes, freedom of innocence
Long lost, yet dearly craved!
Gulmohar trees swaying
In the summer heat
Tawny branches bursting
With fiery flowers,
Crimson petals carpeting
The gray gravel road
Gleefully picked up
For sword fights
With tender stamens;
The tiny tip breaking free
In innocent games
Losers none, all winners be!
Green sepals become
Fake nails in child’s play
It is all beautiful, speckled
Like colors of tomorrow!
A burst of tanginess
Tingling the soul,
Children head home
Chewing sepals, petals;
Just a flower, so much to give
Until it melts – orange, blue
All comes to rest, in dusky hue!
It was a sultry afternoon. The day stretched endlessly, waiting for twilight. The orange popsicles stained his tongue but didn’t quench his thirst. He wasn’t sleepy for lack of physical activity. He read books, heard songs on his laptop, played mobile games but time stood still, fatigued by the heat of the Indian summer.
Bored, he picked up his drawing kit and started sketching a treasure map to reach the fabled pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. He drew ardently, painstakingly filling vibrant colours in the verdant landscape, flora, and fauna. The emerging terrain captivated him. He paid attention to every tiny detail. The sound of wax crayons against white paper, echoed the unstoppable rhythm in his delicate fingers.
Beyond the tanned mountains, arched the seven colors of mystic beauty. At the corner of the sheet, a speck glimmered. He added final touches to the elusive gold and rested the point of his crayon, in a finishing move, just as the first star of the night rose in the burnished horizon. In the twinkle of its light, with sweat beads on his brow, he sailed through the azure skies, having fallen from the edge of the map.
Blue Pen Strokes 