Take this money,
Take this fame as well,
Snatch my youth from me if you so wish,
But return me those rains of childhood,
That paper boat, that rainwater…
The oldest sign of area,
That old lady children used to call naani (maternal grandma),
That camp of fairies in the granny's talks,
That guard of ages in the wrinkles of face,
No one can forget even on trying,
Those small nights, that long story...
Going out of house in strong sun,
Those catching birds, nightingales and butterflies,
That fighting on dolls' weddings,
That falling from swings, and is on your feet again,
Those lovely gifts of brass rings,
Those souvenirs of broken bangles,
That paper boat, that rainwater….
Sometimes going on the high sand-hills,
Making sand castles and destroying them,
That innocent face of love,
That estate of dreams and toys,
Neither there was the sorrow of world, nor the bonds of relationships,
That life was so beautiful..