On Missing Mess Lawns

By Mukund Maithani UG21

I miss the lawns, their background blurs
like laughter and gossips,
basketballs on court,
and running playlists,
or metallic sounds ringing in the distance.
Yes, I miss those sounds
but I miss the silence too,
whispering to no one,
welcoming the turn of solitudes.

I miss the sights too-
readers lying on grassy slopes,
and ants exploring bricks
or frisbees pursuing the wind.
In Pune, 2005,
Nani caught me staring
at the pastel-coloured sky.
I asked her what’s up,
she said, “God is happy today,
they are painting for us.”
Convinced.

I still awe at the complexity of colours
in the canvas above, from campus,
(But God is dead, Nani, who’s painting now?)
seen more often in Monsoon;
and rain is like a downpour of longing
descending to meet these lawns.

I miss the Spring too-
the lawns sporting jewellery
of flowers gold and purple.
I see the cats frolic about,
friends setting up sittings
under the shade or sunlight
before the sun signs off warmly.

It’s 2021
and here I am,
away from these lawns,
like a blade of grass
moist in winter mornings
waiting for warmth.