My Childhood Shelf...

The floor is now squeaky,

Walls bleached out,

And have turned dingy.

Scribbled with my name,

Stairs look the same.

Frames have gone empty,

Paintings lost their colours,

And Look no more dainty.

I wonder that I still remember,

The key to my room’s lock,

Still tough & as hard as rock.

My room where I lived,

My gloom that outlived,

And I am back here,

With my eyes wet,

Riding my childhood gear.

Fifteen years have fleeted,

The old calendar recited,

Still frozen by icy February,

Reminding my last birthday fiesta,

My elder sister’s kisses,

And her piggy bank in magenta.

It was hers, but she gifted me,

Bought me smiles & never offended me.

She had made a shelf, by herself,

Carefully she preserved my toys,

Rail car with siren & a woody baron,

Goose with honk & a meditating monk.

The shelf still carries them all,

Tucked with her love,

Memories of everyday ball,

She was more than a sister,

A parent, a guide & a story-teller.

The shelf is still strong,

Emotions and memories long,

Which are still sound and profound.

If I could live them again,

I would replenish the moments,

Broom away the gloom,

Retouch those missed efforts,

Enjoying my flowers bloom.

                                                

                                            

  Images Courtesy: - Google Images Search

Copyrights  - ANSHUL GAUTAM