Scars of Dried Areca leaves

Once upon an autumn ,
I held an ashen memory of
a greyish sky which covered
Our play evenings.
We were in bunches ..

Once we became athletes,
I have a scratched memory of her.
She wore a blue frock
with gigantic white flowers.
We used to call her “Rosa kutty”

Some days,
We flew on the mango tree swing,
Stretching our small hands
to touch the highest leaves.

Greedy little us—
for a “Pazham”
in a game of hopscotch.

Some people
never really enter our lives,
Never share secrets.
yet—
on every wall of childhood,
they remain,
an unerasable memory.

In a ripened summer,
When I cross that threshold ,
the backyard remains,
the scars of dried Areca leaves
where We dragged each other.

On the wheelchair,
she sits,
Smiling,
Muted —
Who once had a
magnetic voice.

Every woman
has a “Thozhimaar kadhai”;
only the forms differ.

“Rosa Kutty “- a name an athlete
“Pazham” – reward / priority earn by complexing the game
“ Thozhimaar kadhai” – tale of female friends/ famous poem by Vairamuththu