My neighbour’s little girl visited me one day.
We sat on the garden swing and swayed back and forth.
She got hold of the metal bar across the swing
And swung like a chimp.
She found a yellow plastic ball, threw it into an empty garden pot,
And watched it spiral inside in awe.
We ate biscuits and fed the birds.
She watched them in wonder.
She came inside the house like a little explorer,
Craving to unearth the mystery of the unknown.
She asked me never-ending ‘why’ questions,
With no pressing need for answers.
When it was time for her to leave, she chirped:
‘I love you’.
Trivial things in life afforded her immense pleasure.
I gave her less; she gave me more.
Such is the spontaneity of a child
Who finds joy, wonder, and love in everything.
Children of the world love, laugh, and play,
And sometimes engage in squabbles.
In a wink, they are friends again,
Once more they love, laugh, and play.
Not being bound by the ambit
Of race, religion, envy, or odium,
They nurture unconditional love
That flows like a boundless stream.
We were also children once,
Just like them.
We, too, played, loved, and laughed,
Just like them.
And we fought and forgave,
Just like them.
We were also filled with love and wonder.
Where is that lost child?
Yasmeen Rahman
