The black slate, The white chalk,
The lustre of a steel tiffin box.
The drenched eye that read its first romantic novel,
The inexpressible pain of your first heartbreak,
The solace in a best friend’s hug,
The fancy collection of coins and mugs.
The fragrance of that love-letter,
The warmth of ma’s hand-knitted sweater,
The farewell parties
And the potluck unions,
The polka dots
And the loose fitted bell-bottoms,
The handmade cards,
The slam books and the photo albums,
The capes, tiaras
And those cowboy hats.
The late night walks with your best friend,
The early morning talks with your boyfriend,
The shenanigans and
Those pinky promises,
The Fantasies of building a tree house
And of gazing the stars in the night sky,
The unplanned road trips,
The adrenaline to travel without the G.P.S.
The sweetness of standing beside the radio
to record your favorite song,
To frequently fix the spindle of audio cassettes,
The heavy piggy banks,
The slapstick comedy shows,
The Random Poetries,
Trust me,I’m an old school!