A Childhood Memory

I remember the sun through the mango tree leaves,

How it danced on the floor like shy golden thieves.

Barefoot mornings on dew-wet grass,

Time moved gently — slow to pass.

A rusted swing in the neighbor’s yard,

Pushed by dreams, held by wire and guard.

We flew in air, no limits, no end,

Each wind-blown arc a promise, a friend.

Mother’s voice from the open door,

Calling us in — “Just five minutes more!”

Jam-sticky fingers, scraped-up knees,

Running wild, wild, wild — and free.

The scent of books in the old school hall,

The chalk dust drifting like early fall.

The secret notes, the paper planes,

The whispered stories during rain.

And how the night came soft and slow,

Fireflies blinking, a silver glow.

We’d lie in silence, watch the stars,

Wondering if dreams could travel that far.

So small were we, so full of sky,

No need to ask the reasons why.

Just laughter, light, and endless play —

Where pain had not yet found its way.

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Thank you for reading...

Regards: Fazal Hadi