The Little Girl

Nostalgia hit me again

When I reminisce a short glimpse of that moment

Archived somewhere in my memory lane

That’s what my old man said-

“There’s a little girl and her meticulous mind

Always in a daze,

Leaving me with dozens of questions from time to time”

Some may say,

My metaphors are a resemblance of his character

My attitude is a partial reflection of his kind gesture

About what he resonates with others,

For me, he’s a man of rare perception

And to him,

“She has a tenacious viability

Which never fails to amaze me

I remember an instance,

This little girl in her candescent white boots

Struggling to coordinate her footsteps with mine

While she walks along the path

Swaying her umbrella from left to right

Hopping in the puddle of mud

Augmenting the joy of summer

She dwells in insatiable curiosity

She’s charming in her favourite attire

Blazing red on the ethereal cotton fabric

Stitched on the linen with fancy frills

Always lost amidst the things she admires

While the gust of wind makes her hair frizzy

Unbothered and stubborn to this world

She’s shining like a morning daisy

I captured the charm in her face

And If she wonders why,

I shall address this moment as my true happiness

you smiling back at me”

The origin of my hope

Such sweet memoirs of my youth

Unraveling my thoughts before you

He said,

“You remind me of my former self”

I recall such blissful days

It’s been years, I was young and naive

To assimilate this specific memory

But he rememberes every verse of my existence

To him,

I’m still that little girl in her candescent white boots

Who’s lurking behind his pile of old books

Well that’s how he sees me

Away from the chaotic struggles of today;

Happy and care free

-Shubhangi Rawat

52 thoughts on “The Little Girl

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