To The Child In Me
I write this to you,
the child in me that hasn’t grown up yet.
You may remember,
the yonder blue hills from the hazy horizon
cascaded gently down the emerald gradient
of the rhythmic undulations of alluring landscape,
that carved the contours of the charming hamlet
where your endearing home was once cradled,
nurturing you in the bounty of beguiling nature.
The pristine panorama of clouds sliding silently
upon the curvature of canvas of the cerulean sky
where your unbound joy soared to great heights
with the colorful kites you loved so much to fly.
A gleaming stream gliding with glistening liquid pearls,
flowed with the flamboyant facade of silvery splendor,
bedecked your sprawling house with an ornate garland,
made of embracing loop of the mesmerizing meander.
On its rippling water you sailed rainbow-tinged paper boats
that glided wobbling on the current’s tortuous trail.
On these you perceived to a distant dreamland unknown
your mariner mind with teenage fantasy used to sail.
The boats have disappeared with the ebb of the lost time,
in lonely hours the childhood moments I live with naivety.
These are the few flashes of memory
that illumine my nostalgic mind with love for you.
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