Childhood —
a word wrapped in sunlight,
stitched with laughter,
and scented with earth after rain.
How does one forget
a season that lived
without fear,
without shame,
without the weight of tomorrow?
We stepped out after a meal
and returned only
when the sun itself went home.
Water bottles in tiny hands,
afraid our friends might vanish
if we paused too long —
even thirst could wait
when joy was calling.
Birds flew back to their nests,
darkness quietly filled the sky,
yet we sat outside —
lost in games,
lost in freedom,
lost in a world that was entirely ours.
Summer holidays bloomed
like festivals of light.
Grandmother's house —
a kingdom of stories,
of mango trees and muddy feet,
of secret trips to the lake
despite countless warnings.
Wet clothes dried under guilty sunlight,
fear of scolding in our hearts,
yet laughter never left our lips.
Even the sting of a parent's anger
carried warmth —
because love lived beneath it.
We rode bullock carts through dusty roads,
spilled milk in innocent panic,
plucked flowers to cook imaginary feasts,
made dolls from earth
as if we were creators of worlds.
Afternoons were battles —
mother's insistence to sleep,
our stubborn escape to play again.
Grandmother's tired voice
begging for rest,
and our relentless plea —
"Just one more story…"
Oh, the rain!
When clouds gathered,
our hearts danced first.
Raincoats forgotten on purpose,
umbrellas "lost,"
hailstones tasted like forbidden candy.
Even fever felt like
a small price for such happiness.
Village mornings sang softly —
cool breeze,
chirping birds,
cows calling into dawn.
Now, mornings awaken
to engines and horns —
and something within
remains asleep.
Today, when I hear
"Twinkle, Twinkle…"
or "Johnny, Johnny…"
a child inside me rises,
ready to shout "Yes, Papa!"
without hesitation —
yet adulthood whispers,
"What will people say?"
Tell me —
why did we grow up so fast?
Could time not have paused
a little longer
in that golden season?
Childhood was not just a phase —
it was a miracle we lived
without knowing its worth.
Those days…
so beautiful,
so innocent,
so impossibly distant.
Days that will never return —
yet live forever
in the quiet corners
of the heart.