Ere, the rising sun,
I would be on run.
When everyone would sleep,
I alone did dream.
How early I woke no matter,
I always found awake my grandfather.
Together sitting on his folding bed,
we watched the sun deep red.
How the sun becomes from red, to crimson, to yellow,
I often asked.
While in the sun we basked.
He was a man simple,
together we went to the temple.
There I tried hard to ring the bell,
and my grandfather busy praying in the cell.
After presenting the gods some offering,
he would pick me up so I could ring.
He bought me guavas ripe,
whose interior from my mouth I wiped.
Though I didn't like its hard cover,
I ate it lest he should discover.
He said whatever we get to eat,
is God's special treat.
He often read me scriptures,
and to illustrate showed the pictures.
He told me various tales,
of ram and krishn and his old days.
I carried meals to his room upstairs,
for that gesture he was full of blessings and prayers.
He sometimes gave me his churan tasty,
which was a part of his secret recipe.
I seldom made tea,
but whenever I made he drank it hot for me.
At night we watched the stars bright,
counted the planes and imagined their flights.
Experienced the breeze,
but in no time, time from me my childhood ceased.
