Old Memory by Himanshu Pandey
An Indian town. Wooden-gate has rusting-butt, paintwork of limestone on the wall and a tree whose flowers and leaf are scattered on the wrapped-ground. A swing made by old cloth`s rope has lied on a branch of that tree and…….and a picture of an innocent childhood.
*Infancy*-there is nothing….not a single word except _feelings_.
Maybe something is more precious than this.
Gullibility on the face, a glow of eyes and a naive smile on lips…..away from worldly things…….AHH!