Childhood

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 shy giggling, as I hid behind a tree;

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.