Why is it that you have become less and less like me,
When happiness was what we used to glean.
Why is it that you like to live a routine,
When all we dreamed was The Paradise green.

Why is it that the child that yearns is suppressed in,
When living with him was like being a King.
Why is it that the-fear-of-unknown rooted deep within,
When exploring wilderness was the best thing.

Why is it that naughtiness, A relic of the past,
When dripping with it was our only task.
Why is it that other’s verdict your stand-fast,
When gripping criticism was like hearing Basque.

Why is it that time has become such a precious thing,
When passing it with me was the only dream.
Why is it that future has become an important thing,
When living in our present was our only theme.

Why is it that you need to take out time for fun,
When joying was the only thing we began.
Why is it that you have started to plan a run,
When planing a thing was considered a pun.

I am waiting here for you to call,
A chance perhaps to live it all.
The Paradise we made is still serene,
When you feel like it, just give me a ring.

I will always be here for you to call
With a hope that you will break the-grownup-fall.