My Little World

Happy memories of lively moments,

Living together under one roof, from grandparents to my uncles and aunts,

I and my cousins played in the same room.

Those days have gone must have disappeared somewhere just the memories of it keeps replaying inside.

Yes, there were differences and sometimes arguments but still we used to make up until the next sunrise.

Even the hut seems better than the large mansions, scented in love in every direction.

My mother was busy cooking, so my aunt fed me with all her love and kindness.

I slept with my grandmother and sometimes have snuggled in my aunt's bedroom.

In those days, each day was like a feast even though it was the same chapatti and curry.

The school seemed less boring when cousins accompanied you while singing all the way.

Competition was merely a word to be found in a dictionary, the only thing that was practical was love.

I remember those days and feel pity for my siblings when we used to recite our lessons

In unison under the night sky on the roof, circling around the lantern.

I have everything now, a big house... every day a different cuisine but everything seems so tasteless.

Those chapatis with my cousins were much more delicious.

This big house seems suffocation..that small house with an old white paint was much more beautiful.

Those summer nights, we all slept under the night sky, on the roof,

With a night bridge rustling past the peepal and neem trees in front of our little damsel provided good sleep.

Now even the A.C. couldn't make up for it, nights are spent with eyes open in some mundane thoughts hoping those days to come alive.

Saw how the birds fly and how the seeds grew under the sun's warm love with my own eyes.

Now only I can see is a print in the book.

The beautiful lanes even though it was not made up of asphalt or concrete,

Was decorated by tree's wide grin provided many relaxing rides.

Those roads which run between the farm lands,

With the mustard plant in its yellow bloom, it was scenery to view.

Every old person was a grandfather and every one of my father's age was uncle,

Like the grandfather who brought milk didn't go without sipping three cups of tea and telling stories of mighty kings.

The uncle who brought letters didn't forget to bring chocolates and play Gillidanda with us for some time.

Every house in the village was like ours, no one minded where we spend our whole day and in whose house.

That grandmother who lived in the next lane shared all her sweets with us, which she made with her own hands.

The aunt who lives next to our house let us play all day in her house,

Scolded for the mess we used to create but never wanting us to leave her alone there.

Now the so-called civilized citizens have come, teaching us ethics on how to live.

Love has now become a mere word in the dictionary, competition is our practical life.

Some defined life as a race and some competition, the karma to live.

People say change is constant, but I say something's are better unchanged.