25th December, with Father Christmas.

Where the crickets were must.

And the streets would be full of dust.

Playing, the dust because of us.

The Christmas in the past.

Where the fun used to last.

When the sun rise,

We’d be told it was time for rice.

In our new clothes we’d shine.

And the shouting would say ‘nice’.

Then we’d wait for till it was night.

And play with the crickets under the moonlight.

The night full of breeze.

With the lights of Christmas tree.

I mean the Christmas in the past.

Where the memories will never rust.