Lollipop Memories

Lollipop

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Stubby little fingers feeding pigeons perched on a loft beneath the window sill.

The rotund pushing the frail aside; how she wished she could feed them all.

Her mother calls and she scurries, across the terrace that singed her bare feet.

She plows into a massive form and yet she cannot wait or stall.

Mother hands a note that says ‘pint of milk’ with a rupee and sends her off.

Papers dancing in trifling whirl winds, open drains with paper boats.

Cycle skidding in the dust, hawker selling sullied ice cream cones,

And when a scarce car whooshes by,

The urchins race across to break their bones.

The counter-top at general store is too high;

The peddler smiles at enormous eyes and knows their name.

He hands the change and while she gawks;

At neat stacks of jars with soggy biscuits and lollipops;

He wonders if she ever talks.

She flits back home, she hands the change.

Twenty years subsequent, she gazes at buildings with a hundred floors, watching the sun skim windows on building tops.

Still haunted by native dust and smelly alleys, lazy street dogs and broken kites;

Insufferably longing for soggy biscuits and lollipops.

 

Banks of Godavari, India

via Photo Challenge: Delta

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