This poem is a quiet conversation with a city that was once a small town—and a lifelong companion. It reflects on childhood, friendship, and the gentle ache of returning through memory rather than footsteps.

As time reshapes places and people, the poem holds on to what remains unchanged: the emotional geography of where we first learned to belong.

# O My City #

O my city,
the moment I hear your name,
my eyes quietly fill,
as if my childhood—
folded somewhere
in the layers of time—
still calls out to me.

Once, you were a small town.
And I was smaller still.
Your streets taught me how to walk,
your dust clung to my feet
and told me—
this is where you belong.

That school bell—
it wasn’t just a sound,
it was the first rhythm of my life.
A slate in my hands,
dreams in my pockets—
innocent,
and already bigger than me.

I know your streets still exist.
Colors must still rise into the air,
lamps must still glow at dusk.
Only our footsteps are missing now.
Only our laughter
has learned to be quiet.

That circle of friends—
the teasing, the fights, the laughter—
today I finally understand:
that was wealth.
Nothing I earned later
ever matched it.

You kept growing—
taller, brighter, louder.
And I slowed down,
leaning on a cane made of memories,
learning the weight of years.

Even now,
I want to return.
To call out familiar names.
To search for familiar faces.
But some names
have become prayers,
and some faces
now look down from the sky.

That is why, my city,
you hurt so gently when I miss you.
Because you were never just a place.
You were a time
when the heart was light,
and life had not yet taught me
how heavy it could be.

If ever you can grant me one kindness,
grant me this—
leave my memories untouched.
Let you remain
exactly as you were
the first time
I lived you.

(Vijay Verma)
 www.retiredkalam.com

Categories: kavita

Tags: #Childhood, #creativity, #emotion, #happiness, #Love, #poem, #Poems, #poetry, featured, Poem, writing