Hope are the shield; Memories become the sword

and he realized….
There were times summers really existed;
when he spent them playing cricket in the scorching sun.
He doesn't see summer anymore,
There's only video games and air conditioned 'fun.'

He remembers times called winters, when
he slept under a blanket within the chilled walls of the den,
Ain't nothing a winter,
when you ask mercy of an electric heater.

He remembers times that they called monsoons;
Them rain drops used to come and make him play,
Like a three year old child
splashing and screaming in the puddles of clay.
The streets came alive as water gushed down the hose,
Moms yelled, “Come back, or you’re sure to run your nose.”
Friends rolled along; no matter what age we belonged!

Then time rolled,
and the world turned,
and people changed…..

Them rain drops still shower, and the winds still blow,
He recalls memories of the distant lands and lets his eyes flow
He has no more puddles, just a neat and cozy room now,
No more old time friends as he looks out of the window.
A wet street outside, drenched in rain as he blinks;
No live motion at sight but a couple of cars, he thinks,
"Wow, now I don't even get monsoon here, it stinks!"

He remembers the friends he made;
Friends he made with the innocence of childhood,
Not with mature choices;
Mature choices always only made business partners.

He is thankful for getting this Promised Land,
But wishes he could get back to Her at the end.
What he had borrowed at the start out of Her is Hers.
There will be a lot that he will earn
from the little he had borrowed with his little hands.
He is sure mother will be proud when he returns,
with all heart and the elements that belong to her lands.