Childhood Memories

 

When I was lost in the joys of childhood,

I never knew what the future would bring.

But as I crossed the threshold of boyhood,

Memories of those days began to sting.

I remember the times, so pure and bright,

Rolling a tire with a stick in delight.

No worries, no fears, no burdens to bear,

Just laughter and joy filling the air.

Oh, how sweet were those simple days,

When time would pass in endless plays.

In winter’s chill, our noses froze,

Yet we never cared, as the cold wind rose.

They asked, “What will you be when you grow up ?”

But now I know what I miss the most—

Not riches, not fame, not worldly desires,

Just to be a child and play with my tires.

Oh, childhood days, so distant and true,

If only I could return to you.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

When The River Flowed

  When summer holidays came our way, We kids had fun the whole long day. Early morning we ran to the river wide, We played and laughed by the water’s side.   No worry for food, no worry at all, Evening came, we heard no call. From sunken boats we found old things, Iron pieces felt like hidden kings.   Barefoot we ran on warm soft sand, We made small castles with our hand. We caught tiny fish, we climbed old trees, We felt so free in the river’s breeze.   We slid on soil by the riverside, Laughing loud with every slide. Mud on clothes, mud on face, Still we played and found our grace.   Sometimes we fought, then laughed again, Friends like brothers, sunshine and rain. Mothers called but we stayed more, Wet clothes, dirty feet — fun to the core.   Today that river is dry and still, That happy childhood I remember still. Kids today stay inside all day, On phones and games they waste away.   I wish those days could come again, The river flows, we lose our ...
Read more

The Nightmare Of Jehlum

  She meets me on Jhelum’s banks, Where the river carries silent grief, And tells me the nightmare of a Saint Who saw red waters flooding The streets of Kashmir. Washing away peace from every corner, From Kulgam to Kupwara, From Anantnag to Bijbehara to Srinagar. And of the iron rain falling from the sky, Tearing through eyes and faces, Blinding them from asthans and mazars. And of explosions splitting the sky, Deafening ears, drowning out prayers. And a silence replacing the Sofi songs. She says no one will hear the wails, No one will see the cracks. Only the deaf, the blind, and the dead will remain, Their silence the only voice in this lost Paradise. Jhelum flows on, unburdened by our grief.
Read more