The drizzle of the morn...

This morn
The drizzle icy cold
When shot against my face
And arms and legs and handrest
I was at once to those days...
My pristine childhood
And also of the same of my mates...

Incidentally
This morn
The road I took matched
To this feeling
This road...
That often in the glorious past
Led all of us
To playgrounds...
And courts where basket ball hooped
And those trees...
The violet,the yellow and the red-
They bloomed in our springs
Of the past and
They still do the same!

This morn
The icy cold raindrops
On my skin
Fell exactly the same
Just like in our childhood of Eden
We shouting at each other
A game played a side seven...
And after that
When the rain took the shape
Of torrent...
Those krishnachura radhachura
Petals-
They used to fall on us
As if from Heaven...
As we played a side seven...

This morn
The drizzle and the breeze
Brought all these...
The red yellow violet
Blossoms flying to kiss
Me and my horse...
Only...
Those little friends....
They were missing...