Those days are gone like a feeble chilly winds of autumn,
I am now wandering above the clouds of memories.
Their voices sound like sweet melodies of zither,
Echoing like the diminishing notes of its strings.
But I still play them in my reveries,
Smiling each time.

I was sitting on the bench,
My eyes meandering through the room-
To aquisite the sight of the sculptured profile that held my heart.
But I couldn't secure the desired glee.
Suddenly, unbridled goading words are whispered in my ear,
And I blushed.

We chortled together.

Then the venerated figures entered and exited the room -
Chiliad of knowledge were shared,
The race for erudition went on.

One day, small folded papers were diffused in the room,
And I got plaudits for the digits inscribed on it.

Those sweet voices again whispered honey words in my ears,
I smile.
I saw the shining digits in their papers too, and showered sweet words in return.

We roistered together.

But no one knows:
The clumsy voices,
That had decoded the tricky equation, which I couldn't decipher -
In the midnight, when all the eyes are closed.
My eternal helping portals were never closed. Never.

Portal of love - portal of gems,
Threshold of comfort - an Adobe of blithe.

Then a shrill bell rang ,
And we all rushed towards a piece of green,
Smearing it with dust and hullabaloo.

I prattled with those beloved figures,
In thousands fashions of tones -
Elated, loud, merry, stout.
Sometimes sunny, sometimes rainy,
We held hands and hundreds of miles we walked:
Pledging to never leave the shared pavement.

My bosom pals were my cherry blossoms,
Fragranting my life with the sweet scent of mirth and innocence.
I was happy with the three pals I swore to stay beside.

But they are now distant memories,
That I reminiscent like faint redolent.
Those ebullient days were my cherry blossom days - that come and go, fulfilling every heart with glee.

Wheel of life revolves, and it goes on and on,
Like the earth, that brings different seasons.
So my cherry blossom days are no longer with me - not to return anymore.

I still bask their memories.
Always,
Like the sea waves that never stop kissing the shore.

The lonely Zinia sways alone in my heart.

But,
The chrysanthemums are yet to grow in the Neverland called : future.
And the yellow roses of my heart,
Shall always smile - holding hands in hands.