By: Amna Tariq
Down the musty corridor, I walked
Looking into the rooms, where once I had played
Then out of the back door, into the fields
Over the stile and into the Apple Orchid
Autumn it is, the bare trees whispered
Gold-red leaves crunched under my feet
Yet, everything seemed unchanged to me...
The victorious laughter, as the others found me;
The sound of the nursery rhymes we sang on the swings;
The wooden wheels of the cart rattling down the lane;
The shadowy green comfort of the trees and the soft grass.
It was all there, still there in front of me...
Etched on the thread of my memories,
That reached out to every leave, every blade of grass.
I was eight once more, with wheels under my feet,
Meeting cherished, old friends from long ago.
With every familiar tree i ran to,
Every wisp of sweet country air I inhaled,
Old memories surfaced;
My soul laughed;
And the heart cried.
Small we were, dreaming dreams of greatness,
Not knowing that nothing could be greater than a beautiful childhood.