By Purba Pande
9 am, a beautiful morning of someday in the past,
Waking up with tender rhymes and
Sunshine's gentle touch.
Laughter and gossip coming out from the kitchen side,
You were not grown up, so you knew they all loved you cause you believed your eyes.
Then what you used to do was run to your favorite place,
Unknown with it still that it's gonna be lost as everything will change.
Adventures in the attic at noon when everyone used to sleep.
To open up the archaic arks if there was any hidden treasure left.
Laminated old pictures, where all emotions left congealed,
Tell how those colourful moments become colourless memories.
And then in the afternoon, what you used to do was run to the favorite place,
To the yard to the field and play, play and play.
So many smiling faces were all around that have now faded away or vanished in an unknown way.
Today, the house is still there in the same place as before.
But it seems like they've all forgotten the path up to its door.
Through its closed windows, a covert glance can be felt.
Maybe It's nothing but the past you, who used to run through those places.
The tidy and empty rooms seem kind of improper,
When the clocks on the walls have stopped ticking,
Because no one is there to see .
TV and the one closest in the corner get released after the day ends.
And a strong feeling of hiraeth is hovering in the air.
The yard is now covered with green grass.
Maybe you can find the lost footsteps there,
But you can not get back that blue sky
Nor the morning with that shine.
Because it is lost somewhere ,in some corner of life.
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