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Sunday Poetry Special By Debarati Sen
The afternoons of childhood
In that attic room,
secured as a mother’s womb.
Granny’s rapunzel stories dispensed all the gloom.
With her I looked for my doll’s groom,
While mumma made the flower wreath on a sultry noon
with the yellow flowers that bloomed in the garden by the roof.
The summer evenings made there way merrily through.
Grandpa’s laughter kept at bae all blues.
Happiness was unbridled and life was simpler then.
My heart still skips a beat while walking down the memory lane!
Memories are now my only friend.
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