Every festive season
He arrived with his toys and balloons.
For so many decades
He had been a common appearance.
Right through my years
He was seen in the same corner.
Right through the umpteen seasons
He had gone into my very horizon.
When the days were hot,
He would arrive with his lot.
When the festival was naught,
He would move to another spot.
It was indeed a sanguine world,
It was indeed a dancing world.
To us tiny tots
That was a pageantry of life.
With his balls and toys,
With eagerly looking little eyes,
My childhood hath laughed with him,
My boyhood hath grown with him.
Now my children enjoy the winds,
They wait for his arrival from the distant woods.
Every season the way farer appears and disappears,
He leaves a lingering trail behind.
But for the past few seasons
He is not seen around.
Is he lying ill?
Or hath he crossed the last hill?
The festival is now over,
The way farer is now gone.
Where are those toys and balloons now? -
Deeply buried in the garden of life.
15/11/2000
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Ravi Panamanna
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-way-farer/
