“Some childhood memories never grow old,
They simply become echoes in our heart.”
Laughter once rose with the morning sun,
Little feet raced and games were begun.
The swings whisper, the tall trees sway,
Holding the sweet secrets of yesterday.
A whistle once called us: “Come, it’s time!”
And small victories felt like a mountain climb.
We laughed, we fell, we learned to stand,
With dusty clothes, bruised knees, and a friend’s hand.
We chased the flying wind and autumn leaves,
The climbing branches of the welcoming trees.
A twig became a sword, a stone a throne,
In kingdoms that we ruled and called our own.
Girls used to sit where time stood still,
Upon the slope of that familiar green hill.
The soil holds the weight of long ago,
Where tiny steps were eager first to go.
We used to fight over the smallest things,
Then forget our quarrels as friendship sings.
But somehow… all of that has gone,
And those beautiful days have moved on.
by Astha Pandey, DAV Jhingurdah
