That landmark corner of alley,
those monolithic tablets
inscribed with royal memoirs,
became our very first playground.
Oblivious to their noteworthiness,
we disturbed
those sacred stones
with our hoo-ha.
And I guess,
whatever phantasm it is,
that resides in those annals,
enjoyed, when our tiny feet
mauled that space,
(a little ungraciously though)
playing hide and seek,
oonch neech ka papda,
and countless rounds of box cricket.
It kind of felt alive.
Awake. Cognizant.
But now,
cloaked heavily in its silence,
memorial stands forsaken.
The hubbub has faded.
And the specters shiver.
Creepy, cold, lonely specters
in abandoned, forlorn cenotaphs.
Sounds so much like us.
Welfare unto all
Rab rakha
