Street 3/4

On both sides of this path, there are small stores
Of groceries, canned food, medicine, and toys.
Beside a Hindu shrine whose iron doors
Are always fanned, an art school for teen boys

Displays its billboard, saying, "Come! Let's learn!"
This road I amble through once lay all dead
From heavy floods that wrecked it turn by turn,
But now, revamped, it has a gravel bed.

Most of the shopkeepers are known to me.
Though timeworn now, youth still glows on their faces
Like it did years ago. Senility
Can't put them down. Their smiles bring back the traces

Of childhood days when I and my sole friend
Would gather at their shops, then sweep our eyes
Through every shelf. Our scanning had no end
Until we found some packs of flavoured pies.

Each evening, all these stores are meeting spots
For grown men who pick up the latest news
On sports and politics, exchange their thoughts,
And argue when there are conflicting views.

A few steps from Sanjeev's department store,
There is a road where I don't wander much.
Now filled with glass-walled outlets, but, before,
This place had no attraction points as such.

It seems as if this region's just a whole
New area, an alienated part,
A living thing that doesn't have a soul,
A place next to my home but far apart.


Shamik Banerjee

If you have any thoughts about this poem, Shamik Banerjee  would be pleased to hear them