Marbles...

It was not made up of stone

or any baked clay

neither glass, porcelain nor agate

The endless joy of winning

my warm feelings & care

were it's ultimate constituent

It was the stuff making my day

concealing myself from dad

I used to play it till so late

Propelling it by that tiny thumb

to hit my favourite blue one

so as to drive it out of a circle 

Scratched on the ground

By some village lad

it was really fun to play marble

I remember handing them 2 my sister 

to save those all in my marble-box

while leaving my place for study

I had a memorable emotional draining

as if it was very close to me

I  miss them more after that tragedy

It was the sweetest recollection

and the worthiest possessions

that i had under my custody

Today the reminiscence of those

glazing and multicolered marbles

seems like fate's pathetic display

I can still see myself as a child

in the reflection on its surface

when i find one on my way