A Bus to Childhood
An innocent reminiscence
A chariot of steel, gleaming with sun-kissed chrome, whispering promises of lost zeal.
I climb onboard, a tired soul at sea.
Seeking refuge in the slight shift of the window.
The metropolis fades away, a blur of glass and stone, as memories from slumber float around like butterflies.
Schoolyard echoes a happy chime of laughter, friends in bunches chasing stolen time.
Barefoot runs on dew-kissed grass, a freedom I treasured, transforming brick walls into fields, where dreams once soared.
Shouts and screams, the embrace of a leather ball, each goal a victory, engraved on a youthful face.
The asphalt, the brilliant color of a playground, is painted by sunlight.
Swings like joy pendulums, blue-painted fantasies.
Barefoot hopscotch, blissful squares of chalk,
Whispers were shared in huddles, and secrets were sealed with a kiss.
A tear falls, like a diamond in the sun.
Its melody outruns the symphony of childhood.
The conductor’s voice, interrupted by a startling chime, yells out, “Last stop,” breaking the illusion.
The bus is a mundane shell, the city’s clamor, a hard reality’s doom.
But the echoes live on in my heart.
Untainted by rain, a whisper of a life.
Oh, to chase fireflies beneath the sigh of dusk, to build sandcastles, to dream of kissing the sky.
To exchange these tired years for the pure delight of laughter, and to ride this bus to childhood, drenched in dawn light.
But time is a relentless stream; it flows and never stops, leaving these memories inscribed on life’s old gates behind.
So I hid them away, a treasure in my heart.
And to the breeze, “If only I could be whole.”
I want to ride the bus to my school days.
© Shuvranil Sanyal, 2023
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