His voice dissipates with the air as he calls out.

He waits and waits hopelessly,

No response.

At that moment,

A younger version of him leaves his soul,

And runs around the streets,

As free as it could be,

Giving life to every little thing it touches,

He decides to chase after it.

It settles on the thin strap of the swing,

Pondering on how to swing alone,

But soon gets its answer as another ball of light pushes the swing from behind,

It is smiling wide now.

He notices that it is not alone as three other lights scatter around it,

It calls them it's friends,

They swing high in attempts to touch a piece of the sky,

They slip down the slides, hoping to fall harder each time,

They fall and rise in the see- saw, trying to outdo their partner.

Stones, stick, ball, mud--

Each becomes a part of their nameless games,

They play and play,

Drowning themselves to the sounds of their laughs. 

Neither of them care about the consequences,

Nor about the merciless world outside,

Time is careless around them,

While the evening sun becomes their ally,

Even judgement is hiding behind the bushes,

Because it's afraid of the angel called innocence,

That protects these souls from their mistakes.

Their visions are limited,

Their palms are tiny,

Their mind is a baby with questions,

Yet their dreams soar high.

They carry their legs wherever they please,

A place with no destination,

No identification,

As long as they can play,

As long as their bodyguards are there to protect them,

As long as they return to their protective arms,

Then that was enough,

It was their world.

Now as he witnessed it through his eyes,

He couldn't help but smile at its stupidity

Then leap into the pits of nostalgia all over again,

It's voice was heard,

But his voice got lost to it's past,

It's cries were soothed,

But his cries were flushed down the toilet,

The five year longed for wings to fly,

Undoubtedly, it's wish was granted some twenty years later,

But no one told him,

That his wings would be--

Cut by betrayal,

Crippled by failures,

Chained by responsibilities,

It weighed him down to the ground

The ground that was home to reality,

His reality.

He calls 'it' again,

Time to return to it's owner now,

It's friends too begin to disappear one by one,

With a promise to meet again,

It's promise was fulfilled,

While his remained,

In the waiting list without an expiry date. 

He returns home,

Wondering about the 'it' child,

That was lost in the abyss of time.

He calls again,

But this time air has a voice,

From the very same guardians who protected him,

Even if their roles were reversed now,

Love remained static.

He lay on his bed,

Searching for his lost child,

Something that would never be found,

Something that would never return, 

He let the ghosts of the past haunt him,

He let his present threaten his existence.

He forgot,

That while his present was nothing like his past,

There were still a few things that remained static,

He forgot,

That while his past pals replaced his present ones,

They were still there with him,

He forgot,

That if he continues to chase after the impossible

Then one day the present that he regrets,

Will turn into something he regretted.

"You have time."

"You still have time."

-- The voice of his lost child whispered in his sleep.

● ○ ● ○ ● ○ ● ○ ● ○ ● ○ ● ○ ●

Childhood is a precious thing, isn't it? But we should learn to appreciate the present too.

I came up with this poem just yesterday. Do vote and comment your views on it.