Layered
fashion styled the centre that day;
while
wind ransacked every nook in town,
my
fingers mined deep within pockets in vain
for
warmth, when a bare belly crossed my way.
Spellbound
my eyes failed to see the face,
but
the swagger proclaimed : Youth walks past!
All
of a sudden from a distant past,
my
mother’s voice brought back the day,
when
against her authority I had set my face,
there
among the mountains, far from town.
As
winter lingered on, I tried to have my way,
with
springdress, barelegged –silly and vain.
“This
counsel, child, is not given in vain,
keep
warm till snow has thawed well past
‘Little
Roof’, the tavern up there, the gateway
between
summit and plain where on a fine day
hosts
from the battle-grounds of town
find
peace under the mountain’s proud face.”
Her
stern voice betrayed by a kindhearted face
to
reason steered me and in the same vein
lectured
about the temptations in town.
“Remember,
she bid, always the past
and
that my words, however harsh
this day
only
wish that you fare well on your way.”
From
my younger days back upon my way
and
to the bold belly and juvenile face,
I
turned my thoughts and to how today
good
sense at the service of the vain
has
values and lessons from the past
surrender
to the latest fad in town.
In
the maze of delights and tinsel in town,
a
slippery ground to drift out of the way,
the
future of novelty is spelled “past”.
Could
a mountain’s commanding face,
I
mused, still keep the fashion weather-vane
from
turning with any foolish puff of the day.
Far
from town, to preserve our face,
we
had our way and other means to be vain,
so
may the past rest, let's move on today.