Sounds Of Childhood Poem by Shankaran Kutty

Sounds Of Childhood



The whispering hiss of starting up a fire
How my mother starts each day, never to tire
Acha in the garden caring each flower pot
Cold would have become, the tea served hot
O those sounds of childhood I still can hear

The first sounds of breaking dawn
Is when the Venad Express would blow its horn
Early morning, from the city zoo
Could hear the lions roar and the lionesses too
O those sounds of childhood I still can hear

The hissing sound of milking the cow
How the milkman directs it to the pot I used to wonder how
And then the big jersey cow begins to moo
After been fed hay and green grass too
O those sounds of childhood I still can hear

Paaaaaper, screams the newspaper boy
The rumbling sounds of the china toy
The incessant sound of the alarm clock that rings
And the fresh new day that along with it brings
O those sounds of childhood I still can hear

The Sanskrit news at five past seven
It was time for me to get ready then
The milk cooker, giving its whistle
Amma crushing spices on mortar and pestle
O those sounds of childhood I still can hear

Amma screaming for me “Jayuuuuuu
It is eight o clock, but where are you? ”
hen late hear the horn of the school bus blare
And rush in to see the driver’s glare
O those sounds of childhood I still can hear

At my slightest touch my sister screaming in pain
And then to escape punishment I try in vain
The angry voice of my father when he scolds
In a vice like grip my hand he holds
O those sounds of childhood I still can hear

My grandma’s open throated laughter
Her rare scolding and loving thereafter
Each evening hear her unfailing chant
The hymns in a tune that does enchant
O those sounds of childhood I still can hear

My toddler brother when he does laugh and cry
Into a mischief when he heads on the sly
My sister’s screams when he swallowed a beatle
To make him sleep was a royal battle
O those sounds of childhood I still can hear

The wind whistling through the coconut leaves
That hang low as if to catch the breeze
Our pet mongrel when he does non stop bark
The crickets chirping once it is dark
O those sounds of childhood I still can hear

The home made ball, meeting the willow
The tingle of glass breaking after a blow
Sound of a hundred on the school football field
A dozen teams who to each other does yield
O those sounds of childhood I still can hear

The starting tune of Doordarshan
The boring sounds of Krishi Darshan
Mein Samay hoon” starts the great epic
We had Ramayana too, to take a pick
O those sounds of childhood I still can hear

Heated discussions at local chai shop
During elections, loud speakers blaring non stop
Politics and football were topics livewire
The feel good Lal movies of which we never tire
O those sounds of childhood I still can hear

From the local mosque the call for prayers
Street vendors screaming to peddle their wares
Temple festivals with much light and sound
Where little box shops with goodies abound
O those sounds of childhood I still can hear

The cacophony of many a chirping bird
In early spring, with mangoes ripe, were heard
The mangoes ripe, falls with a thud
We pick them up and eat straight from the mud
O those sounds of childhood I still can hear

The non-stop giggle of children who talk
On the way to the school, they daily walk
The bullock cart that rattles along
Women rushing to work, on their lips a song
O those sounds of childhood I still can hear

The pelting rain on my tiled rooftop
That for days on end does not stop
The sound of thunder in the distance rumbling
Scared screams of people on the road, running
O those sounds of childhood I still can hear

As dear to me as the sounds that were heard
Were the sounds those days were simply unheard
The hushed up clicks of computer keys
The sounds of war, when there was only peace
The digital sounds of a phone alarm
Sounds of an ac when the days were warm
Fancy ringtones of a mobile phone
Sounds from the earphones of people walking alone
Dancing girls and screams of an IPL match
For those days, cricket we would silently watch
The revved up purrs of an imported bike
Screaming “Anchors” I simply don’t like
Heavy metals screams they today call a song
It is still the melodies, for which I long
Today’s sounds are a sign of decadence
Give me the sounds of old, or I prefer silence

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Edward Kofi Louis 08 July 2015

Through the coconut leaves. Nice work with the muse of life and the ways of nature.

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