Summer Days, outside

On beautiful breezy summer days
I lay quietly on my bed.

I dream of flying birds, pesky mosquitos and a grateful wind.
I smell the breeze, light gentle and one to please.

There is none of that in my four-walled room.
I sit and wait for nothing.

Often looking back at a chilhood so raw,
Kite-flying, badminton-playing, frisbee-throwing...

I don't like picking the leaves of green beans,
Upturning black soil with seeds.

I don't like watering the lawns which were God-gifted.
I like eating their blossoms and belongings.

Once I ran the fields with  a soccer ball,
Hit the end of a white volleyball.

Sitting quietly on a bench even when in the park,
I long for a childhood that neither restricted nor held my arms tied.