An Old Vintage Shotgun of Mine

A loaded pistol, With youthful courage till yesteryear; Now lies naked and dormant, And Is found to be lifeless and dead. Somewhere, buried in my Junkyard, Playfully tested till now in all arms to shame; As it shyly, blushes and whispers to admit, Murmuring its helplessness into my ears. Ooh! My Childhood friend, It feels like an impotent; To be so bullet-less today. My Golden days have all ended, Life has become so ignorant now; As I've become so bullet-less today. As the pendulum constantly oscillates, Time has traded fast on twenty wheels; Looking for some good fortune in distant lands. And a store-room in my backyard, Has always remained the same; And is still kept unchanged. But never was any eye caught, Not even mine; To drool upon the nozzle of that Gun; Like the way I used to do, Used to lovingly do before. Strolling down my kindergarten alley, When a Gun was gifted on a bright Christmas morning; It used to amaze me in my childhood days, As I so excitedly unwrapped and got it out; From the mysterious and magical White socks, Which was hung on my bed; Hung all night, Waiting for a snowy white beard old man; A laughing sage in an exception; Who lived on the mystical hill-side view, Of my Steel city. Today, after so many years, A long craved sight fell upon it; And it instantly drove me back, To flash my childhood nostalgic days. When infant Army camps used to settle, To battle in the air for all day long; Under the densely old, Never claimed tree by anybody - 'Our Mango Tree'. Ooh! How then this pistol fakingly killed, So many nappie buddies of mine. Who played and just acted, To be dead as my enemies. Ooh..! How strangely it feels like, A game of now. When today the lil' me gazing at any topic, Sitting in my backyard; Stumbled and pondered to find, An old vintage Shot-gun of mine. So curiously digging the wearily torn school bag, Hanging since ages on the dampened wall. Ooh..! So clueless, I fumbled upon, An old vintage Shotgun of mine. Dumped and buried under thousand other, Essential antique toys of mine; Which notoriously has got rotten in rust. In closed walls of adolescence, Where white parchments seeps overall; From moist doors of yesterday, Ooh..! How strangely it still feels like today.