The stream running through
the apple orchard
the slate roof
through which
wafted her love
in the smoke
of mountain delicacies
she cooked for us
the cows grazing free
the stacks of dried grass
the no phone
no TV evenings
listening to her tales
of Sahabs and memsahabs
of the Raj
The tin roof has killed the smoke
and the recipe
they now have LPG
the stream channeled
to be a concrete drain
what was the pasture
is now the parking
grandchildren glued to
some electronic fantasy
no tales, no mystery
when my granny died
she took the
charm of the hills
from me !
the apple orchard
the slate roof
through which
wafted her love
in the smoke
of mountain delicacies
she cooked for us
the cows grazing free
the stacks of dried grass
the no phone
no TV evenings
listening to her tales
of Sahabs and memsahabs
of the Raj
The tin roof has killed the smoke
and the recipe
they now have LPG
the stream channeled
to be a concrete drain
what was the pasture
is now the parking
grandchildren glued to
some electronic fantasy
no tales, no mystery
when my granny died
she took the
charm of the hills
from me !
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