Often, as a child, hurt, I wept by the sun
only to see rainbows in my tears—
it so distracted me, I forgot my pain
to enjoy instead the kaleidoscope.

The playgrounds were a vast expanse of green
to skip, run around and play—free, oh so free,
beneath a morning, an afternoon, an evening sun.
It got so late at times the first star rose
to watch us wend our way home.

On hot summer nights
it was heavenly, for sure,
to sleep in outdoor terraces—
the full moon beaming so bright,
wrapping us up in cool delight.

And after a morning bath
for a first-grade boy, it was time
to hasten to a sunlit spot
to keep his rendezvous
with a golden sun in winter,
a silver one in summer
—to pay obeisance
to a living god.

 © CR Mittal (March, 2004)

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