For the child in us…
Understandably, childhood is the best part of anyone’s life.
To the eyes of a child, things appear small
and sense of complexity is a foreign matter to its mind.
Nature made beginnings of all things always tender.
All things, therefore, begin always in tenderness.
As age progresses, things grow from tenderness to an acquired
toughness, as if possessed with a desire to be strong like a stone.
Age first is youth and strength.
As experiencs furrow the mind
the deepened sorrows appear as wrinkles on the face.
More than gladness, sadness seems to be the best cultivator of
dreams from memories wound and rewound.
At times it appears
memories are nothing but undiscribable longings
for men to live the lost childhood once again.
‘The child’ in us is like a desire
which we lose before it is realised
that it turns out to be the best desired.