Pooja Chandrakar
Drawing plain flowers, eating sour limes.
Standing under banyans, thinking they were pines.
Running up the hill, frowning at sundown.
A cotton candy was good, wasn’t looking for a crown.
Riding on my bike, standing in the line.
Counting each cent, savoring each dime.
Unaware of the world, was happy mapping my town.
A cotton candy was good, wasn’t looking for a crown.
Tucked under my pillows, are the memories of that time.
When all the worries were absent, every arrow was benign.
It is still not that late, I can turn the cart around.
Cotton candy will be mouthful, no space for a crown.