I opened the Magical Door...

I opened the magical door and saw, the streets from my childhood.

Neighbourhood where I cycled as a child, free-willed and wild.

Where my neighbours waved as I passed them, ringing my tiny bell.

I opened the magical door and heard, my mother calling us for dinner.

The family gathering, chatting , laughing, passing each other the curry.

Making jokes and cracking up on tales of clumsiness and pranks.

I opened the magical door and smelt, fermented pickles, rice and Daal with a generous sprinkle of coriander and happiness.

The aroma bouncing around, climbing up the walls and out through the window, waving good-bye as it goes, to my childhood.

I opened the magical door and touched fragments of my past, present and future consumed by adulthood.

Grasping fleeting moments of my ever-escaping freedom and my never-ending dreams.

I opened the magical door and found, myself wide awake, staring at the apartment ceiling, reminiscing the past.

Gone but not forgotten, tales of a past well lived and loved.

The ghosts of fond memories that inhabit my soul.