childhood memories . 
If two of my small eyes are the telescope of the past dream, then every moment of my little belt, each day, a very precious show piece arranged by row in the row of the past. If the inner breathing machine of my chest is the world's largest warehouse, then there are rows of decorated items like that of my childhood, during those happy moments of happiness.
I can not forget even if I want to forget. On the day of the small bell, a living image of a living on the memorial page of life and always walks behind me. Sometimes I am dragged to the ground, dragged to the ground, on the curved lithur, peas, the yellow mustard flower field, the small tributary of the village - in the water of the dighi, beside the Shapala droplet jhal; At the bottom of the mango tree, the pebbles on the shade of the trees, in the cold of the winter, in the fog under the palm trees, filled with clay pots, the fresh taste filled with juice.
Beautiful nest.
the open window in the south, the row with the betel nut tree, and the palm pond water, stirring me with a halter, stirring the pistachios with broken pieces of the mother. In the small village, the clay churning of bamboo fencing, thick green natural landscape, grew up with breathing. When the life of today's bricks in the life of a stone, when deep frozen deep inside the chest of the heart, eyes closed and clenched to the comfortable bed, and hid the body in front of my eyes, then spreading horizontally in the field of green grass, the free sky of the blue sky, the golden rice Ear
As soon as I was a childhood, I heard the flute of Madhummakha Bamboo, the Bhatiyali song of Madhyamaksha Banda, As much as I have left behind the life of childhood, now I want to match the life of the village, the more I go back to my childhood. The days of my childhood and adolescents left me and led me to the path of basic life. I forget that the path of melody, fresh air, bird song, flower swelling, butterfly dance.
Every moment of childhood, where there is a great show piece, there can be nothing to be repeated in the memorial pages. I remember about whom, draw a picture with which to dream about. Every day of childhood, where honeymooners were pleasant, I especially remember the day.
Every moment of childhood, the beautiful lazy woman is like a laughing smile, but she still lives in the heart. As the lover lost, as the laughter rises from the heart, the same day as the small ball was thrown into the heart, but the whole heart of the land was captured.