Squeaky unoiled hinges Of swings in the park Sweaty breeze in the face Games in an idyllic noon Clang of metallic toy ponies Multi-hued flying frisbees Muddy barefoot squeals Merry-go-round treble Run and hide, hide and seek Playing till night descends Yes, freedom of innocence Long lost, yet dearly craved!
Gulmohar trees swaying In the summer heat Tawny branches bursting With fiery flowers, Crimson petals carpeting The gray gravel road Gleefully picked up For sword fights With tender stamens; The tiny tip breaking free In innocent games Losers none, all winners be! Green sepals become Fake nails in child’s play It is all beautiful, speckled Like colors of tomorrow! A burst of tanginess Tingling the soul, Children head home Chewing sepals, petals; Just a flower, so much to give Until it melts – orange, blue All comes to rest, in dusky hue!
It was a sultry afternoon. The day stretched endlessly, waiting for twilight. The orange popsicles stained his tongue but didn’t quench his thirst. He wasn’t sleepy for lack of physical activity. He read books, heard songs on his laptop, played mobile games but time stood still, fatigued by the heat of the Indian summer.
Bored, he picked up his drawing kit and started sketching a treasure map to reach the fabled pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. He drew ardently, painstakingly filling vibrant colours in the verdant landscape, flora, and fauna. The emerging terrain captivated him. He paid attention to every tiny detail. The sound of wax crayons against white paper, echoed the unstoppable rhythm in his delicate fingers.
Beyond the tanned mountains, arched the seven colors of mystic beauty. At the corner of the sheet, a speck glimmered. He added final touches to the elusive gold and rested the point of his crayon, in a finishing move, just as the first star of the night rose in the burnished horizon. In the twinkle of its light, with sweat beads on his brow, he sailed through the azure skies, having fallen from the edge of the map.