That Banyan Tree

The village where my father was born. After so many years Still not changed Except that electricity arrived there , The road blacktopped ( yet deteriorated ). And thatch roof houses now a days hardly seen Yet what I wonder is As seen in my childhood long ago The village road today also is lonesome, Cactus and wild bush plants in that quietness Still growing here and there by the roadside. And sprawling paddy fields are as calm And beautiful as seen from the road long ago. The aged banyan tree standing on the meadow At the roadside is still in its grandeur. Under it I saw my grandfather cremated, Consigned to flames When I was a boy about 10 years old. My grandfather during his youthful days Sometimes might be resting Under that banyan tree Tired of wayfaring or working in the paddy field. Sometimes he might be waiting For somebody he loved under it Wearing kurta ,dhoti,and clogs . My father died six years ago And myself today is an old man Yet whenever I visited the village And saw the lonely old banyan tree I remembered the days I spent there during my childhood Particularly the day my grandfather died And cremated under it. The old peepal tree , Growing at the gate of my residence By the side of the busy road , Often I collect its fallen leaves with a broom In the winter mornings and burn them. Yet never pondered about its long past. 12th August 2012