Streets of Childhood

That broken bicycle bell,

That mud entangled in games till evening.

That mango tree at the turn of the street,

Climbing its branches was an act of bravery.

Every Sunday with balloons,

And every market with churan,

The smell of sweet and sour tastes,

Still reverberates in the mind.

There was no worry, no noise of mobile,

No burden of studies, no future.

We just lived freely in the present,

We shared every happiness together.

Now those streets are only in memories,

Those friends are now in photographs.

Wish we could return one day,

Smile in those streets again.