Become a PUBLISHED AUTHOR at just 1999/- INR!! Limited Period Offer
Become a PUBLISHED AUTHOR at just 1999/- INR!! Limited Period Offer

Hillsides

Hillsides

1 min
510


Glistening rooftops of tin huts

In the distance,

The shimmer of sunlight 

Bouncing off the windows of a car

Slowly winding its way up the hills

Disappearing around the bends 

Reappearing on the other side. 


The farmer 

Walks through his flooded fields

A small stick figure

Knee deep in water

Half naked

Burnt almond in the summer sun.

On the street below:


The father holds tightly

Onto his daughter’s hand 

While she struggles

To break free

Her tiny feet in her dusty school shoes,

Rebel,

Kicking up the dust on the road

With every step;


The laborer returns from his day of work

His jute bag frayed at the edges

The head of a hammer sticking out 

He squints his eyes against the brightness

Of the setting sun

And keeps his eyes on the road


His shirt grimy, untucked

Softly flutters in the wind;

The school bus turns the corner 

Leaning heavily to one side,

And the happy babel of children 

Breaks the oppressive air

Of small-town silence,

Their faces are flushed red 


The water bottles around their neck

Jiggling up and down

With every bump on the road.

The whole thing is theatrical

Like a play that plays out 

Over and over again

And everyday I drag my chair

Close to the stage 

And watch.



Rate this content
Log in