Uncle Paul's Garden in Delhi, 2004
By Sravani Singampalli
I still remember those days
When I used to chase butterflies
While my mother used to
Boil my favourite sweet potatoes
Those days when
We used to sell
Piles of old newspapers
And all the empty wine bottles
To the scrap dealer
Whom we used to call a ‘kabadiwala’
For money and sometimes for
Masala papads and potato chips.
I miss the days
When we used to
Secretly enter Uncle Paul’s garden
Start plucking flowers and
sour tangerines.
The yellow-orange marigolds,
The light pink and burgundy roses
Were the heart of this garden.
I miss so many things
Those chilly winter mornings
The chirping of petite tree sparrows
The melody
On a breezy day
Sung by the rustling leaves
Sravani Singampalli is a published writer and poet from India. She is presently pursuing a doctoral degree in pharmacy at Jawarhalal Nehru Technical University, Kakinada, in Andhra Pradesh, India. Her writing has appeared in various international journals and anthologies. She likes painting and singing, in addition to writing, and she is very fond of House sparrows.
Featured image courtesy, Sravani Singampalli
