This is one of my earlier poems that I believe could have been versed better...
Where was the muddy lane, where I walked bare feet?
And the lake where I spent half a day;
And from where did these roads of stones and concrete
And skyscrapers, replace the old houses of clay?
And where were my friends, I left long ago
And my buddies who acted in the pantomimes;
As no face in the crowd, could I conjure
For twenty years was no trifle of a time.
And why looked so sad; the old banyan tree?
Where I spent my blissful evenings
A friend and guide, it was to me
Had befriended none since our parting.
I would talk to it for hours at a stretch
And on anything under this constant sun;
And the letters, I would on its bark warily etch
Seemed to have faded into oblivion.
I had expected everything to be as same as before
Even the barren lands where grass refused to grow,
But a flourishing township and much more
Waited, when I returned from Heathrow.
For time had never been taught to wait
And as I looked down the concrete road,
I could barely recognize our own chalet
And a stranger I felt in my own abode.
