nostalgia
Childhood is measured out by sounds, smells and sights, before the dark hour of reason grows.
I could feel the sunny mornings of school vacations, lying on bed, I used to open my eyes.
Unfocussed, there were these dimensions around the place. The milky smell of an air spread
through the neighborhood, tinkling bicycle bells ending on a rough note of,“pavwala”,and
a long call for my name, just like another perfect start for a beautiful day. Still it’s a same
warm feeling every morning. Every dimension leaves me cherished memories of loved & lost,
where we ache to go back again. A place, we know we're being loved. It’s called home.
I could feel the sunny mornings of school vacations, lying on bed, I used to open my eyes.
Unfocussed, there were these dimensions around the place. The milky smell of an air spread
through the neighborhood, tinkling bicycle bells ending on a rough note of,“pavwala”,and
a long call for my name, just like another perfect start for a beautiful day. Still it’s a same
warm feeling every morning. Every dimension leaves me cherished memories of loved & lost,
where we ache to go back again. A place, we know we're being loved. It’s called home.
