Untitled (for writer's cramp)

bicycle, orange vest, tire swing.

I take a journey
As I cycle through grass
So green and full of dew.
Reaching my village, I reminisce
The childhood days-
Swinging, cheering on a tire swing
Suspended on a banyan tree
Going over the moon
When being gifted a bicycle
Riding round and round on it
Until my legs hurt.
And the weekly trip to the temple
Far off on a hill,
Where the priest sat
In an orange vest and white dhoti
Chanting mantras we found a mystery.
The simple joys of yesteryears
Moistened my eyes with tears
Cupping each glistening drop in my palm
I save the memories from breaking
Into a pool of tears on the ground
For memories are great to make
But if you don’t save them, and cherish them
They’re hard to be found.

(133 words)