written by: Monika Ajay Kaul
and its faded and lopsided lines;
drawn with those filched chalkstones.
We spent doing in each season change;
scorching sun, tranquil moon and rapt rains
No sassy computers, no torpid televisions,
and nothing to stop our tiny fingers.
On the dusty streets, we would jump and hop
to draw the squares and murmur numbers.
A fade music on radios enlivens the backdrop.
Pebbles and stones in those pretty hands
with the dash of dust on the chests to wipe.
Tipi-Top and I-Spy, the backyards would echo.
Our hearts thumping with Mommy’s glare,
as she glimpsed back page with few Tic-tac-toe.
Blissful was the word to spell out the days.
Each new songs had different lyrics,
No cheat-codes to win the artificial games.
Merrily singing those rhymes and limericks,
that lost the gist with each passing day.
We grew, so did our hearts and minds, but
those old familiar streets did crumble more.
I wonder…whether the chalks are still stolen
and Hopscotch comes with uneven lines;
the stones I believe still come free.
Monika Ajay Kaul
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