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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I do not know Whose excitement was the greater My dad’s or mine As we boarded the bus To a long-lost dream Of verdant fields Rich with the fruit of native soil Of crystal clear streams Where laughing youth Was spent in carefree Abandonment. My dad’s eyes gleamed As they spoke of glowing hearths Clustered around with pots and pans With music of bubbling broth And the sweet smell Of meat As the fat simmered and sizzled Stirring the rumbles Of those gathered around Listening to great grandma tales. Sweet were his words As scenes of pastoral joy Rolled off his tongue With vividness imbued With longing For years gone past These two score and ten. Come, lad, he said With wistful smile And a soft ache in his heart You’ll meet ole Gran And Uncles and Aunts And Cousins in droves. The bus droned through the night And at crack of dawn We alighted At a ramshackle stand With nary a soul But a lone Wizened man Who had seen better times. With a quaver of despair My dad fearfully asked Of such-and-such Great clans once there Of streets and of temples Of markets and yards Of fields and their tillers Only to be met with Stony silent stare. There was a rise in the wind As dust-devils danced The torpor was mounting Till the man finally spake The families you seek Have moved on To the beyond Ten years or so There was a quake and a storm Now there only be ghosts. Now we awaited The bus To take us back home Saddened son And a ghost of a dad. ~19 Jul 2016~ Semi-fictional Contest: Long lost family
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