Childhood

The days made of pure gold,

Story is not that old,

Story of orchards & wet branches

Slipping hands and determined climbers,

Ripe or unripe, there were no changes,

Tale of bicycle that went like a hush,

Swaying and swinging, empty or rush,

Seat or carrier, all would appeal,

Hands up in triumph, that was all ease,

Flight of stairs all in one go,

Tops marbles & kites up ho ho...

Energy levels hitting the roof,

A lot of things lay scattered now as proof,

Bathing and basking in memories now

Life was so easy...

And I was like a song...

Unaware of what lay ahead,

That was neither right nor wrong.....