Lives of Childhood bring us all
Memories tattooed in our body,
And, haunting, leave us bewildered, awestruck sometimes
(with age passing),
Behind the footprints of Time.
Some with blessed memories are replete,
Some with memories to be forgotten.
Lives, thus, in many forms sing
Stories to tell and not to be told.
If childhood, the age of bliss,
Would with Grace give in all its secrets
that to go past her was
but an epic to not be considered,
not to be indulged in,
How merrily would one delight in
the abode of freedom and ecstasy,
How piously would one lead his life,
How blessedly would one breathe his last
With the Divine’s eternal love
engraved in his soul.