Crystal

that unwind like a magical dream.

As a child, with jaunty steps and dazzling clothes,

vacations used to balloon the heart

when I travel to the evergreen village,

where superstitions are woven into its tapestry.

Our country home lulls in a sweet solitude,

surrounded by thick outgrowth of rain fed trees,

a tiled house with wooden walls

and old beams that hold a hundred vibrant tales.

A serpent carved on a rock is the family deity,

guardian angles, sprites and wood nymphs

adorn different spots around the house

to ward-off all evils.

The ancestral grave stares from a distance,

“They watch all our deeds”, warns my aunt.

Strong fragrance of the white flowers

from the banshee haunted tree charms every soul.

A gnome dwells in the well

and pulls children who peep;

cousins uncover such creepy stories

so I avoid even a glance at its gaping mouth.

Festive dawns are marked by tinkling bells

and hypnotic drum beats from the temple.

Grandmother chants a sing song prayer

as she conjures coconut savoured delicacies.

When the tropical heat

and the humidity thickens the air,
we rush down the mossy steps chasing butterflies
or stand gazing at the wind twirling paddy fields

While eyes drink the cocktail of colours,
we race through the crackling dry leaves
to gather the luscious sweetness
that mango trees shed at the gust of a wind.

Swinging high on a low branch,

I watch with envious wonder
the noisy dive of scrawny boys

shattering the glassiness of the deep river.

Velvet nights are dotted with glow worms,

crickets, croaking frogs and mysterious night creatures. 
Rough throated staggering, clumsy drunkard
tears the darkness with a song and a palm leaf torch.

Now, the fields have given way to

thirsty, dehydrating rubber plantations,

the river has dwindled to nothingness

and my comely grandmother is far away in heaven.