Dreams Of My Childhood

I dream, I am with father, at the market place.
Once again, a little boy with pleasure on his face.
Now, I am demanding a remote car, crying and rolling on the floor.
Poor father, standing embarrassed and smiling, outside the toy store door.

I dream I am at the local ground.
My friends playing catch, with a rubber ball they had found.
Each one of them, a raucous, screaming little brat.
The rest of us, playing cricket with a paper ball and plastic bat.

I dream I am sitting in old Philip's social studies class.
Bored to death, waiting for time to pass.
Besides me little Pallab, drawing a picture of the ghost buster.
Unaware that cunning old Philip is standing behind, armed with his duster. 

I dream I am with grandfather.
My cousins and I listening to his stories of magic, thrill and wonder.
Now, he is telling a very frightening tale,
About ghosts and witches, with long fingers and nail.

I dream often, of such day.
Sweet memories of a childhood, that was gay.

All that remains now, are just these dreams of yore,
And nothing less, nothing more.