I wandered through the streets of my past,
Each building telling a story of my childhood.
The shop there, with maximum customers,
I remember going there,
Standing for hours, not able to out voice others,
Just to buy a petty thing!

Beyond it was a shop,
To say it a 'shop' would be too much in its praise.
Just a raised cemented platform.
A man there, sold cold drinks, different flavors.
Don't remember if it still exists.

But there is a clear picture of the man who sat on road,
Beneath the shop.
He sold ice, and I was his regular customer,
Until we bought a fridge.
Oh! How much I used to admire looking at the ice block unloading from the mini truck.

Moving further, there is a shop,
With usual hustle bustle.
I could see the owner as young as I saw him eleven years before.
There is my father, sitting at the corner eating the gujiya, while talking to him.
My father looks at me and smiles.
I move in the shop,
He hands me a ten rupee note.

It was getting dark and I had to leave,
I walked towards my old house,
Thinking that I would go back with my brothers and sisters.
No fascination was left for the house that treasured so many memories.

My brothers and sisters were leaving for home.
I stopped them, asking to take me along.
They refused, saying, 'There is no place for another.'
I saw them receding into the dark.

I decided to walk back home.
The road was peculiarly solitary.
The weather was cold and it had started to snow.
I trudged on, but cold had numbed my senses.
Feeling dizzy, I lost my balance.
But someone caught me.
Wrapping me in his warm arms.
He held immense radiance,
Like the omnipresent.

As I passed away thinking that there wasn't any tomorrow,
I heard him say,'I will always be there for you.'