- Brian Mendonca
Nothing has changed
Yet everything has changed.
The little pathway where you
used to walk up to board the car,
is still there, amid the overgrown grass.
The black dog slinks away
behind the water tank.
It remembers me not.
The light at the altar shines
as it did two years back
Only the telephone is not in use.
The breezes still come in
and play in the windy parlour
the sofas have gone to seed from disuse.
It is day; we put all the lights on
But you still won't come back.
The grimy nets fall forlorn,
The balcony is in peril of falling to pieces
The terrace is covered with slippery green moss
But the 7 p.m. train comes in on time.
This was the place we pushed our baby son in a pram
Before we carried you on a July afternoon
and laid you down in the wet mud.
(20 July 2019
Vasco, Goa)
Nothing has changed
Yet everything has changed.
The little pathway where you
used to walk up to board the car,
is still there, amid the overgrown grass.
The black dog slinks away
behind the water tank.
It remembers me not.
The light at the altar shines
as it did two years back
Only the telephone is not in use.
The breezes still come in
and play in the windy parlour
the sofas have gone to seed from disuse.
It is day; we put all the lights on
But you still won't come back.
The grimy nets fall forlorn,
The balcony is in peril of falling to pieces
The terrace is covered with slippery green moss
But the 7 p.m. train comes in on time.
This was the place we pushed our baby son in a pram
Before we carried you on a July afternoon
and laid you down in the wet mud.
(20 July 2019
Vasco, Goa)
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