Vapors Of A Memory Poem by Kyrgiakos Punnilathil

There is something in the scent
of wet earth in June
when the rain first falls,
something awakens.

I long to dig my toes into the clay
run barefoot and play
splash and soak
until I am like a clay statue.

I remember long green fields,
bright green stocks of paddy,
coconuts drying in the sun,
a crooked stream of water.. somewhere.

The guava trees with peeling skin,
resemble coiled pythons,
but I climb on them without fear,
eyeing the ripest fruit.

There is nothing like a monsoon
that i have ever seen
in my travels anywhere
a beauty captured only in an indradhanus.

But this is not real.
Just a memory,
and an exaggerated one,
That vanished long ago.