Winding back the clock life appears impeccable,
Because memory has served every bliss of the past,
Which is now less than a reality and more than a mirage,
Inner peace was never in denial,
Like the illustrations in a book, I pictured my childhood.
Mind got aged but not the young nostalgia,
Gleamy eyes, unhypocritical smiles, satisfied happiness, and realistic innocence,
Nothing can be compared to the joy of leisure time.
It's not a memory of a single person but several.
I kept my childhood alive on most of the afternoons,
Those afternoons are like gold dust,
Eyes painted the happy colors and soul tasted the peace,
Even a treasure is less valuable compared to colorful childhood,
The only burden that I carried was a bag full of books.
Those days' struggles were not even an illusion,
Innocence blinded the reality of life,
Now my childhood looks like a play enacted by me and friends,
Even today amidst chaos, I achieved my peace through childhood,
My childhood has turned as old as wine, the taste which my tongue still remembers.

.    .    .