There  come days
When you fling your legs and lay in a daze
The ceiling becomes your canvas..
Of your life that was..
Its reels you through the memories..
Of Childhood friends and untold stories..
The splashing in the puddle on rainy days..
The blowing up your gum in million ways...
Those nights on the terrace in pajamas and icecreams..
Those horror movies which played on as you huddled and screamed..
The love story which remained in your diary..
And the dried up rose left behind as a memory..
The struggles of letting your  education find you a roof over your head..
The busy day that followed that made you crash on your bed...
The bonds of family teaching you to look back on  as the pitter patter of small feet climb in to your heart...
Your life was no more your own...
It belonged to many others scrambled up in different tones..
In all that goes on around all the time..You still find that little space to look up at the ceiling as a quick escape..
Wondering what happened to the storm in the tea cup that you were...
Then you sigh with a gratitude as you see your girl whizzing around...
The storm was in your genes and you have passed it on...