Poem by Hiya

 

When I was younger, I was richer 

in coins of laughter and stolen time,

in the smell of rain on red mud lanes,

and nimbu paani running down my spine.

I owned the whole lane after school,

the cracked marble floor, 

the mango tree shade,

the sky was mine, so were the kites,

and dreams were things I never paid.

I owned the rust on the swing chains,

the chalk lines on every wall,

the smell of guavas in the neighbour’s yard,

and the echo of my name, still small.

Now the clocks keep stricter time,

and silence costs a thought,

but when the wind smells like childhood rain 

I remember all I forgot.

 

Because when I was younger, I was richer,

and maybe, somewhere deep and small,

that child still counts her treasures 

and still believes she owns it all.