Arcadia (poem)

More than 20 years ago, I visited my to-be parents-in-laws home in rural Tamil Nadu. These are impressions from that visit.

The swing creaked, makeshift and lonesome; 

rough twine lashing it to sturdy tree.

It gazed at the rambling house,

all wooden shutters and rattan chairs, 

the very picture of tropical leisure. 

The mansion, proud of its substantialness, 

and consequence, lay suspended like the swing, 

amidst straggling flora, sun-baked grass;  

the gardeners’ hose spluttering and competing 

with the twitter of birds, croak of frogs.  

The jacaranda bloomed, 

scattering indigo carpet on the mud. 

Inside the house, rooms sprawled

hither and thither…

Enticing simian intruders into their sleepy corners, 

or into the kitchen with its cornucopia of goodies. 

They monkey around, jumping from tree branch

to tree branch, swinging and gibbering.

What divine hand fashioned this beguiling abode, 

this enchanting Arcadia, I wonder….

To me, urban child, sadly accustomed 

to traffic, crowds, chaos; 

this was unaccustomed paradise. 

My few days there stolen from my other life;  

suspended, like the house, and the swing

in that bucolic other-world, 

in that ethereal eternal summer.