We were children once
Of an ancient play home
Of innocence
Where we longed for Vishu
And a few precious coins we get
That we thought as the most cherished
Day of the whole year
Perhaps a midnight dream
Of light rays and hope
April brought forward
in a tiny lamp lit chamber
of our antiquated memories
Somewhere in the bridges
Of past and present
We still go back to the olden hamlets
To seek the blessings of our elders
who still wait in the threshold
Of that ancient home
With the whole harvest of nature
Once, we thought
Life is as simple
As the fresh breeze
Of a new born dawn
And as steady
As the playful moments
With joyous carnivals of all faiths,
We never screened heartbeats
Nor we polished our words,
As there no undermined cryptic
Measured hidden lines
To hurt intense feelings.
Past in tense that of a golden platoon
With so full of innocence and laughter
Where present too frazzled
With warplanes of egos
Crashing somewhere in between.
And continents afar divide the earth
And spread a thick carpet
With a silent emotionless bruised heart.
Somewhere in the playhouse
Images play hide and serk
And with the lost innocence,
We children
Of a long lost era watch
How April adorns its entry door
Once again with its kindest
Harvest of memories.