FREE VERSE AND SHOUT-OUT TO AUTHORS

Do Hometowns Really Change

Or is it us who change, is it us whose perspectives change ?

Image captured by the Author, at his hometown

My old cycle bell, creaked in a broken voice, as I meandered,
meandered through this portal, this portal called my hometown,
that transported me back, back to my childhood, my eyes,
savoring the moments, moments from of ago, that took birth,
in places, in those nooks and crannies, strewn like dewdrops,
across the city.

Paddling through the bustling city, I reach the gates of my school,
where I cried when entering for the first day, I laughed with friends,
and I cried back again while leaving it all behind, in search of a livelihood.

I pass through those narrow lanes, that still has those cacophonies,
of companionship, of lame jokes, of those teary goodbyes, of promises made,
to stay connected throughout life, and those thread of promises loosening gradually, all bottled up,
as if ready to burst open, as if ready to replay them back to me, as soon as,
as soon as it sees me again, cycling in.