The pilgrimage

                    

It was sudden
Where did the pond go?
And the lilies, dressing up as usual
Did not seem to mind it either;

I had taken the wrong turn
In hope, of excitement
But not this, I could never like it
We had met here, so very often; 

I let go, of my childhood
Open fields, filled with music
In the night chill, food and tit-bits
Adamant and impulsive;

I enjoy, silence now
With the prayer flags, all there
Quiet and cold
Only the prayer wheels turn;

And the monasteries, do not object
To this, the underage pilgrimage. 

(Remembering our trip, with Atish-Anish-Akash, to Pelling and the sacred Khecheopalri lake, a “wish fulfilling lake”, on our 25^th marriage anniversary)