A child under wrinkled skin

Monsoon’s mellow air had made my mind to Ponder on life’s past, fast backward and forth, Till sudden lightning with muted thunder Made me leave chair to look out of window. There, resting elbows on a windowsill, And bending a bit my old, wrinkled self, I looked around with my deep-set tired eyes-- The children playing with rain in the street. Above, under a ledge two lovelorn doves Fluttering wings whilst enjoying rain bath, And dancing at the same time all but lost. The roofs of nearby buildings getting wet, Rain drops making mottled sounds on their surface. But what drew me out was the childhood face Of naked neighbourhood kids’ nude visage-- Bare of any mask of life’s adulthood. And something made me stretch my shaking hand Out of the window grills trying to catch Some rain drops. Or was it some childhood thrills? And as if like a mild electric jolt A wave spread all through my quivering self, Which, leaving window and aged body, Ah, out was in the street with dancing kids, One more kid dancing along in spirit. _________________________ Musings |27.12.2024| Blank verse. old, child, spirit, rain