Memoir of swing

 Swinging to and fro on the tree swing,

on the road with no one to be seen.

People say that this place is haunted,

but that's the only place where I feel wanted .

The tree seems old and wise,

suddenly there is some noise, ahh it's just a mice.

Looking up in the sky, the clouds seems dark and angry,

maybe clouds introspection has been broken because of me.

The land seems barren and dusky,

but I feel more attached to it rather than my father who is devoted to whiskey.

Maybe the tree has it's own story,

seems like it's eyes are tired remembering the clash of whigs and tories.

-Shruti Upadhyay