Vivacious was I but not precocious,
With a simple smile was simply atrocious,
Looking at everything as a mere toy,
The feeling of getting it was enormous joy.
Held I tightly to my mother’s hand in the fair,
Neither would she leave me out of too much care,
Standing on my toes , tried to grab the cake kept up,
And after trying hard, would pout, for the cake being not in my luck.
Lurching on my mothers tummy I used to bump,
And I enjoyed it as she was a bit plump,
Getting annoyed at everyone pulling my cheeks,
Angry got I and they all seemed geeks.
Notorious was I and a bit naive too,
Firmly did I believe in Santa and angels that flew,
Finding no one around, I would get back to work, as the “hardest work” was mine,
Crawling over the carpet searching for petty things to put in my mouth,
I enjoyed and didn’t care, even if the sun rose in the south.
How hastily I would tell mumma about the way the teacher would shout,
And listening to it she would smile and I would pout,
Trying to catch hold of the end of her sari, I used to run behind her,
Bumping, falling and crying out as loud as I could,
After all that only a lollipop would do me some good.
Trying to be laborious by cleaning the path,
While spilling water I used to take a self bath.
Not only with me it happens with all,
Everyone has enjoyed playing with the ball,
With no tensions in mind even if they fall ,
As they have mumma who would always call.
PLAYING,RUNNING,CRYING ,BUMPING,
SHAKING, LURCHING,CRAWLING, PUMPING,
Whatever you say, be it any ways,
But no one can deny that the best were “Childhood days”.
