There were days of which I knew a little.
by Santhosh Vijayakumar
The age of infancy, most beautiful of times.
Nothing to care about, neither pain nor pleasure.
All I looked for is,
My mother’s warmth and my father’s hand.
Those days have passed,
And when I pen this down,
I have responsibility to shoulder,
And carry a burdened soul.
From Infancy to now,
All have changed.
Now my heart craves,
For that infant joy,
The true joy, to which can never return.