One day I would like to get to the point in my writing where I can clothe everyday places and events in beauty and elegance. Goutam accomplishes that in this poem I wanted to share with you.

Goutam's Writings

Always on the road his son was. The road; Which lay outside the village Like a thick black serpent. A serpent that everyday devoured some young man from the village And spat him out In the cauldron of the nearby town. Today, the old man is happy. His son is back home, Here to stay for a few days. After many years, Not in a hurry to jump into his truck And head back to the town With the advent of dawn. Today the child too is happy. He wants to sit at his father’s feet And talk, Just like those days of old When he, a toddler, lay with him at night And listened to tales of kings, queens, princes and princesses, Of Sindabad the sailor, Aladdin and his magic lamp And of the heroes of their clan. Today, they sat down once again. The stars which had in…

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