It is now,

Those rare days,

When the child inside, …

I can’t say I smiled,

When after each summer,

School once more began. …

Colors and simplicity,

Mixed with creativity,

Is an irresistible blend. …

Much from the past,

The youth of today,

Do not comprehend. …

The guitar of the future,

Will have many strings,

Criss-crossing, …

Friends,

Those rare finds,

Who care, …

It seems not long ago,

That in a carriage I rode.

Yet it must so be …

Our local farmer,

Grows vegetables.

He charges a fair price, …

It is in the empty halls,

Where few seldom walk,

Where I find the peace, …

Some days the road seems,

Overflowing with fraught,

Curves everywhere bending, …

Under wide blue skies,

They grew from seeds,

Welcoming the sun and rain, …

It is those few,

Who bind us,

And often unseen, …

It is behind tall doors,

And brick facades,

Where for years, …

It seems strange,

How with age,

Clearly I perceive, …

The haziness,

Along the path,

Is only there, …

Messages,

Are written all around,

Even on the ground, …

I often thought expressions,

Are easy to read,

But more often, …

Some learnings,

Refuse to reach home,

No matter how often, …

Perhaps those parts,

That I know exist,

But can no longer reach, …

Now looking back,

Through eyes,

That lands have seen, …