That time, back home

I miss the freshly mown lawn

The dew damp grass under my feet
The splat-spat noise my chappals would make as I’d walk
To sit on the green, inclined slightly towards the left, swing
The way the breeze slapped itself across my face as I went against and then back towards gravity
The way my hair, in that moment, would gather the wind
And dance…
Oh dance... covering my face then letting go
As if to say peek-a-boo
The songs in my ears
Mostly ‘vanilla twilight,’ with its lyrics, my secret little wishes
Under the partially-visible, polluted starlit sky
And oh, the look on a passer-by’s face
Who I’m sure thought of me as phantom
Hopefully of his imagination
And who is to say I wasn’t
My spirit loved that occasion
My soul wants to reach out to it
I don’t just miss my home, my town
I miss what I was
Maybe I’m still perched on that swing for dear life
That life of my memories