Walking on those mud paths
Where our childhood used to run
I plunge into rivers of memories
Memories of that wooden shop and its butter bun
And those silent roads on which
We, hand in hand, knitted dreams
Where we did thousands of mischiefs
Sometimes fought for kites; sometimes for ice-creams
That old wall is still here;
On which we drew our dream home
Painted it with our stories of imaginations
& its corridors
in which we used to roam
That small river stream is still afresh
Blue as sky, pure, calm and smooth
We often used to see our reflection in its water
That river witnessed our childhood meeting with youth
In these many years, the life albeit walked a lot
Yet our childhood is preserved in this very town
Where I first asked you if you would be with me always
Be it time of glories; be it time dull and brown
And your smile and a small tear in eyes
Said it all with no word to be told,
This old town and its old paths saw it all
The winds here still sings our stories; loud and bold
Loved it! Having grown up in a small town, this brought all kinds of memories flooding back. You talk about the old wall, I have written something similar with an old gate - http://wordcoiner.com/pendulum Congrats on the spicy saturday pick!
ReplyDeletethanks alot for stopping by my blog and praising my work :) :)
DeleteI read Pendulum...what a beautiful work of art it is :) the formulae and IIT reminded me of my childhood and the way you carried the story ahead is just amazing :) glad to read such a powerful piece :) thanks again
I once wrote a poem on "Door" ,,,,,:) you may check it here ....:)
http://abhisheksinghrathore.blogspot.in/2012/02/door.html