While cleaning my room today, I stumbled upon a box... an old, long-forgotten iron-box, tucked in a corner on the dusty attic, covered with spider webs and accumulated dirt.
I had to look closely to find its lid but it had become so rusty that it didn't budge at all at first. Still as I pried open the box, it made a strange sound as if squealing in protest and puffs of dust billowed all around.
Curious by now about its contents, as I peered into the box, I nearly fell back. I wiped my eyes in disbelief and took a second glance. What I found inside was something I thought I had lost long back!
Something that I had never imagined I would find again.
It was a shard of me from the past... And yet it seemed so extrinsic to me,
probably because I had somehow lost it along the way.
Somewhere it got abandoned and deserted and I couldn't even realise!
As I took it out from the box, my hands were trembling, it felt so light on my palms! And it looked so beautiful.
By now it was somewhat disfigured --
bruised by time, battered by abuses, and scarred by harsh exposures.
And yet it had remained as tender and genuine as the smile of a child
and felt as blissful as the hug of a mother.
I had never expected to see it again.
"Innocence" is what I am talking about,
that often gets abandoned somewhere, being exposed to the temptations of sin.
And our child-like naivety gets buried under layers of worldly pleasures.
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| Innocence often gets abandoned somewhere while growing up |
