A treasure to give no chance for stealing,
It is the treasure of sweet memories.
They never know any scope for fading.
They come to my mind in series.
All thoughts proceed to actions,
For memoirs related to actions in store
Ever fresh to call for my reactions,
Always to rejoice me to the core.
The memoirs are like a fresh flower
To gladden my life in freshness
To turn me young in power
That is recollections' real greatness.
I remember those happy days
When I plowed my field by a small plough,
Sowed the seeds in the farming ways
To it, thro papaya leaf-tubes I let water flow.
I recall my tiny mud house, a treasure
With the tobacco stumps as its roof rafters
In and around it, I played in pleasure,
Read my books, now it all matters.
The house built by me safe in summer,
Helplessly collapsed in rains
What pinches, knows the dreamer,
My playing heart was full of pains,
I played Gilli-danda under tamarind trees,
It was the sport, our most favorite,
Playing marbles was our next game,
Swimming was a delightful right.
All those, the hive of honeyed memories
With childhood reminiscences
In my tiny village, still tell joy-stories
In many aspects, mark sweet differences.
Published
Metverse Muse, 80th to 83rd Quadruple Issue.
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