Nostalgia

I stand before it, Something that was my present in past, And is yesterday today, Something that has become a memory at last. A shade of yellow settled in my eyes, Which would now reminisce everything in sight, Bidding my last goodbyes, Everything slowly flushed by a sepia light. Those tarnished blue coloured walls, That have been hit by our class’ cricket balls, Those trees of green, Which luminate the autumn sheen. This role playing ground, Changing its character as occasions are found, Once a ground to our sports fest, Another to when our parade isn’t at rest. Those now-never-to-be-seen teachers, Whose faces I miss, These dusky classes, Which now strike a lighting bliss. Memories hidden in those benches and blackboards, Each one has a story it hoards. The forgotten tales of when I thought ‘their’ and ‘there’ were same, Would be recalled if the wood had a mouth and a name. Past is the moon, Memories, the water, Nostalgia, the tide, Nothing to be felt but a warm collide.