I see the tea leaves in my steel container
And they seem like old friends; whispering
Forgotten secrets, as they turn crimson in
The simmering tea-pot. They transport me to
Paper boats on make-shift rivers; to curled fingers
Making imaginary binoculars; to bicycles
And biscuit picnics; to failed attempts at
Losing ourselves and discovering new adventures
At abandoned air-strips. To long winding roads –
Purple, dashed with little white spots at the centre
With rows of eucalyptus trees on either side.
To narrow mud-paths – slippery; leading up to
A broken wooden bridge. To stretching paddy-fields
As far as the eyes can see; freshly harvested.
There, I smell distinctly the scent of innocence
And I stretch out my arms trying to gather
The lost memories of a forgotten childhood.
Photo courtesy: leedyeah!