The winning poems on this one, are here!
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Dishes piled in the sink, toys on the floor.
Chocolate spread from little hands smeared across the door.
Pencil drawings on the walls and teddies on the stairs.
Laundry basket forever full, the stuff of nightmares.
Coco Melon songs ringing in your ears.
Picking up the pieces, drying little tears.
This ‘never ending’ chaos, in the end goes all too fast.
Before you know it you’ll be yearning for the long days of the past.
You’ll wish for one more cuddle, one more goodnight kiss.
All the mundane little chores are the things that you’ll most miss.
You’ll wish you could go back to the days when they were small.
Realizing that their childhood was the greatest time of all.
Childhood Aura :
The scent of Shiuli still lingering,
under nose unless,
the smell of autumn petrichor released its heaven scented sweetness,
With fw drops of dew falling upon grewing dark lashes and infant fingers pointed to the peak of verdant green hills,
Provoking nnocent unconscious heart though mind is a wanderer in dreams.
Reciprocated everything through blink of eyes ,
Tender footsteps soaked in colours play around till are tired,
Weep when hurt but tears would soothe,
Pausing at places where butterflies cradle.
The safest embrace of lullabies through mother eyes endowed lucid slumber,
Heart swung in happiness for unhindered watch to the arrival of peonies,
Toothless smiles on lazy afternoons and hustling with siblings for spot on the dinner table on weekends,
Rather heart scared to ask if it’s truly necessary to become an adult.
My first memory is my father shouting at me.
My second memory is crying uncontrollably.
My third memory is my father raging at me.
My fourth memory is being given something to cry for.
My fifth memory is sobbing silently.
My sixth is my hands incessant shaking.
My seventh is my eye brows falling out.
My eighth is deciding I’m not good enough.
My ninth is realising I’m a bad boy.
My tenth is walking around the playground crying to myself.
Let’s go for a walk to the old days, today,
And revisit the garden that came in our way,
When to Grandma’s house we would go to stay,
Do you remember the mango tree under which we used to sit and play for hours,
Often, we would dodge the gardener, and pluck mangoes from branches as high as the towers,
To avoid getting scolded by mother, we used to hide behind the pretty flowers,
In the monsoon season, we would tie swings on the trees,
While swinging in it we would enjoy the cool breeze,
Hearing the melodious songs of the cuckoo, our hearts would fill with elation,
Truely, childhood was no less than a celebration,
I wish we could be kids again,
Leaving all the worries behind, we could just enjoy the taste of a mango in the rain!
They still linger within me,
Those stray pieces of childhood,
Long after I have passed the chronological age,
That could even remotely be termed as youth.
I enjoy that extra piece of cake
When no one is there to look,
As do I love to play a prank on my unassuming friends,
Who easily let me off the hook.
Entering my music class late and looking sheepish,
Reminds me of days gone by,
When in school I always entered late,
From the back door on the sly.
The child within you needs to be kept alive,
Lest bitterness finds its way
I’d rather be called childish,
Than an old cynic any day !!
A time tooo dearest to last long,
But for some there exists none.
Not all children born are lucky,
Some have the privilege to the childhood;while others fall prey to the crude element of destiny.
An amalgamation of sweet-Dom playfulness freedom & carefreeness, it is viewed as to be.
But as I wonder, what about those little nippers, who, assume responsibilities earlier sans experiencing any of these.
Everytime the mention of childhood brings about the vivid images of: birthday parties picnics and rain dancing,
Seldom do we include the miseries of the subjects of the life’s harsh realities..
As humans, I urge, let us acknowledge the existence of the childhood of these little have-not beings…
A beautiful phase of life,
Too soon over,
The warm smells of growing up,
The fragrance of love still lingers
along into adulthood,
The twinkling smiles ,
The carefree way of life,
Where thou have all gone away,
The small paper boats waiting to sail in the puddles,
Mother Earth waits to feel your little palms digging into her lovingly,
The mischievousness of yours leaves traces in the broken curios
still sitting majestically on your
We loved it once,
We loved it best!
We lived it to perfection!
We long for an encore!
The sweet aroma
Of ‘Raat Rani’
To mark its territory
In my mind.
A wave of nostalgia hits me
On my face appears a glee
All that fun and frolic with friends
I vividly recollect our naughtiness had no end
From climbing fences to playing hopscotch,
Bearing the brunt of mummy’s anger, when not adhering to the watch
Organizing fashion shows for our barbie dolls
Vacations meant going to grandma’s place and not the mall
Etched in my soul are those days of yore
Can I go back to my childhood, asks my core
The coffee stains on the table calendar,
the unused kettle in the sink where the cassoulet of remembrance brewed
muttered unfinished tales our childhood.
This place was once a happy home
Filled with our laughter and games. Our old days seem just a mile away.
Days of innocence
Carefree in youth
Imaginations that knew no bounds
Silliness and laughter
With friends all around
Indifferent to a bigger world
With all its harsh realities
Just the childhood fears of contention
Of things that go bump in the night.
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