Childhood for me was orange candies,

And the crayon box I so much fancied.

Dreams for me were something I had to enjoy and not achieve,

My soul vibrant and my mind freed.

I had an empty crisp canvas in front of me and every colour in my hand to fill it,

I decided I’ll use all of them and fill my rainbow in its every bit.

When we had a few things to ponder upon and curiosities a million,

When we were not boys and girls and men and women, we were just children.

Childhood for me was collecting things I didn’t need,

And innocence dripped down from even my greed.

When I didn’t associate moods to my colours and occasions to my clothes,

When sunshine shone on every bit of the shore.

Now that my rainbow is witnessing rain,

And my colouring with shallow crayons is all in vain;

I’m finding myself in that filled canvas; I want to draw my childhood again but there’s no space left,

I feel as empty as a Jewelry shop after a great theft.

But now I understand all I had to do was halt, turn around and glance back,

All I had to do was find the familiar lamppost and find my way home back.

All I had to do was wipe that dust off the old childhood journal,

Because childhood is in us; childhood is us; and childhood is eternal.