In the labyrinth;
down the memory lane,
a tripper
reflects images-
sweet, sour, salty;
bad, bitter, bright.
Faces, known-unknown
enter exit through
the open door.
Shades of
childhood days,
makes me confront a
pipsqueak and her
wishy-washy tales.
Furlong smiles;
infinite miles.
Timeless thoughts;
mindless mocks.
Playing possum to
miss the school bus;
laughing at
little Johny and
his sugar jokes.
I dawdle, paddle;
wait for the
glimpses of
wooden cradle.
Mustering around,
they vibrate for
a while;
But dissolve at
a distance
with discreet sound.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem