By Sambavi Parthasarathy
It's still nostalgic,
Those lanes and unbuilt roads,
The park and ongoing crossroads.
Growing up in the very own space,
Learning my way around the place,
There's still the invisible pull, the bonding,
An envisioned aura of safety and comfort.
An aura that's not found,
Whose presence itself to confound.
The local sweets still relished,
The hot savouries still wanted.
Hometown isn't about the familiarity,
The feel lacks clarity.
A rather clear sky,
The sun with its head high,
Rains peeping in now and then,
Fresh air enough for all men.
The historic Fort proving the soul's valour,
The farmlands proving the ancient ardour.
The mighty cauvery pacing through,
Yet it's plight now is to rue.
Still it's not every place,
That can make you feel 'home',
And nothing like the smell of that soil,
Will courage you with familiarity!
Trichy, a city now,
Once a mere town,
The growth and development hadn't changed,
That hadn't diminished,
The love that people fraternise,
The love with which we are bound!