In those lanes, I played.
In those swings, I swayed.
Its bereavement soaks me.
Nostalgia pains.
Cloaked in the desire of revisiting my land again,
I feel like a tourist in my own place.
Looking around, sitting under the tree shade,
The sweet memories make me fade.
Nostalgia pains.
I remember walking through the open grassy glade,
The grass blades lusciously green as jade.
But now everything has changed.
Nostalgia does pains.
Even if nostalgia pains,
It leaves behind an important ethic,
‘Yesterday went in vain, but maybe tomorrow is still my day.’
