Requiem for the lost child

The first thing that caught my attention today morning as I was parking my vehicle near yoga class ( my dad threatened to stop paying for dance lessons unless I joined yoga. Only happens when you're an Advocate's daughter.True to the bone. And am so grateful he did that cause two or so months hence, I can't imagine starting my weekdays any other way ) were these three puppies huddled together, dozing off in a shallow pothole, drawing warmth from each other. I can tell they have already grown since that one time they chewed the laces of my shoes and dragged one of them away to the middle of the humble tar free ground they inhabited.
Rest of the day progressed with glancing a few poems , reading few others and off I went to make changes to the project report that always seems to need changing.
Fast forward to the part where it was raining on my way back from dance class ( favorite part of the day. Duh ! ). I chose to drive home in the rain why ? I lack patience and am much too restless to stand in one place waiting. Cringing and soaked to skin, I slowed before a bunch of kids playing in the rain. One of them says " Eshtu chanagide alva" and I can't tell you if the voice was a girl's or boy's , not that it matters. They were no longer some blurry images of some people I slowed down to avoid. I remember the smile on one of  their faces, not the face, just the infectious smile of pure joy. I still feel the stupid grin on my face as I drove away.
That voice, god! I wish I could record it and play it every time I feel low. It was so puerile and unadulterated. That's how you and I were too. Seeking joy in little things. Finding wonder and staring wide eyed at what we now call banal.
Most people associate loss with something external. Like the person they loved and they had to let go or lost. Sure I have had crushes and recently maybe be came close to love. But never really been there so I don't know about that.
To me the greatest loss that will be is internal. The innocuous child within you. That child who was a head full of dreams and belief that anything was possible. That child who was asked by the world to grow up and so the child grew up.
Every once in a while , a voice named childhood holds my fingers tight and tugs at the charades I wear, to come play along. And I will answer this voice, be it awash in nostalgic rains or in scorching heat of the sun.
This voice is Requiem for the lost child.