Art Of Being A Child

The dewdrops of tears rolled down

In the soil of my alma mater.

I seek solace in your lawn

Weaved in the pages of my memoir.

Those bags nicely cartooned  

With the smiles of Mikey Mouse -

Some ragged, some ripped

Still serve as a knowledge house.

Cried helplessly for going back- 

But the greed of toffees found :

Happiness in the school desk,

Where in lied my little head.

I found myself under the mango 

Soon to throw a stone 

Craving for the sour to munch on

In an anon there came a gong 'Oh'.

Pain in vain, I murmured

While dusts owned my nails.

Show your hands, the teacher yelled

And was made to stand on knees.

The twinkle, Johny and Jill 

Lived in the classrooms. 

The idyllic joy of trees spill 

The ecstasy of being ingenuous.

The lunch that we tuck -

Tasted like the nectar.

They fed us with care,

With the unity of a flock.

I wish those days never end:

But everything rightly ceases -

In the right span of the episode;

To teach us the value of fortunes.

It is still beautiful to be reliant 

In the shades of innocence. 

It is still important to be buoyant

For the days you had lived with ease.

Reviving the roses and thorns

To the dessert of misfortunes,

To fill in the hope to unlearn fear,

Rather to relearn the real pleasure.