The words you see woven in this post got illuminated right after seeing the following picture. My gratitude to Twisha for clicking this picture. Feel the picture and live the words:)
|This picture has been clicked by Twisha|
These by lanes tell me,
A story of golden days,
These by lanes speak to me,
A life that was mine in those days,
These by lanes are silent,
And screams aloud every day,
Be quiet and walk this street,
Get soaked in the memory lane.
Some died; some lived, some born through this lane,
The splitter spatter, the sunshine all fell upon this by lane
And now as I see it, I reflect the good old days,
When things and people simple, had their charm in their sweet ways.
The boys would run after kites,
And the girls would peek through windows,
With their shy smiles on their lips,
That would shine through their eyes,
And the sky would be gorgeous crimson,
Alive in the far horizon,
When birds would fly back home,
As would weep an old widow...
No space to walk in this alive by lane,
Colourful like dozens of bangles,
Wear them one by one, coz glass, you know is brittle,
So walk this memory lane,
As I gather the pages of my book,
Feel the whiff of old days, flowing like a cheerful brook...