My childhood days

I would be the last one wishing for my childhood days not to return

Those days were used and misused like a scratch pad

Few instances were written on those papers

Few crumbled it....Few poked and scribbled

I envied at the multicolored book lying beside

My dad bought it for a price; because it was worth reading

It was admired, taken care of and often appreciated

Why shouldn’t it be? It boasted of its glittering pages

I had ideas written on my pages, the very virgin ones

Some poured out their feelings on me; evil and good

But they tore me and I rested among the garbage

Yeah.. Garbage is always discarded and never brought back