A lost childhood,

If my little eyes are binoculars holding the dreams of the past, then every moment, every day of my childhood holding those dreams of the past is a precious show piece arranged in rows. If the breathing machine inside my chest is the highest warehouse in the world, then there are lined up like sacks of goods the sweet times and happy moments of my childhood days.

I can't forget even if I want to forget. Those childhood days are like a living picture album on the pages of life's memories and walk behind me all the time. I am sometimes drawn by the memory, dragging me along the earth-painted winding path, the pea vine, the yellow mustard flower fields, the small village brooks - in the pond water, the Shapla drops on the lake's edge; Under the mango tree, on the mug of the jam tree, under the palm tree wrapped in the misty moon of winter morning, near the fresh tasting juice filled in the earthen pitcher.

I can hear the melody of the shepherd's honey-coated bamboo flute, the gentle song of the sailor's tender voice, like before my childhood. The more I leave my childhood behind, the more I want to adapt to the village life, the more I go back to my childhood. The days of my left childhood and adolescence haunt me in the path of basic life. I forget the smooth path, the fresh air, the song of the birds, the dance of the butterflies in the flowers.

Every moment of childhood is a precious show piece, there is no erasure, it comes back again and again in the pages of memory. Which one do we reminisce about, which one do we dream about and draw pictures with? Every day of my childhood was sweet and happy and I remember a special day. #bangldesh #Bangla #Islamic #ChildSupport #USA.