Can I go back?

When the amber in the sky
kisses the horizon
and burns the hearth instead
inside every warm little kitchen.
It takes me back to the time
I slept under the canopy of stars,
on the soft cushion of wet grass
listening to the river song.
Back then the dream I had
was folded with the coloured papers
and sailed away with virgin streams.
Some floated, some sank
yet the gigly dream remained stark.
It soared some days
teasing the shape shifting clouds,
secured with a string,
navigating along the wind as it flew.
It remained secured underneath the tree
like the rusted yet intact time capsule.
And to date when the sky changes
to it's burgundy hue
I tread along, humming familiar symphony
surfing along the waves of memories
and some days I ask myself
to make for me a time machine
I would rather visit that child for real
than everyday in my dreams.
©srijaprasita