We used to draw our dreams
in multitude of colored wax sticks,
the rainbow’s possibilities.
As time stealthily passed by
our aging bodies,
our hands grew tired of reveries
and threw the crayon boxes
in the pit of immaturity.
We work and earn money
as we lost ourselves to the expectations
of a strict society filled with standards.
Until we felt the stress crawling
on our haggard faces,
we decided to pause and breathe.
Then, we returned to the box of memories
where our scribbles were buried.
We dug them up, removed the dirt,
and slowly we smiled.
Now we remember the reasons
why bliss is in the hands
of an ignorant child.