Moment of Painting

Staring at the walls I see my childhood picture hanging.  Facing a direction as an art-piece or statue fixed to a surface. I find myself back into childhood. Often I see in movies and science fiction books authors and actors talk about what they call time machine. But my only question is about my acceptance back in time? Are the things still same? If so I don't want to change even any part of life just want to capture all those joy and sorrow into words. There is no way I think to redraft a picture that was perfect back in time. Every moment is a treasure in its own.

Neither am I a regular dreamer nor a professional painter but this early morning in my bed just before I open my eyes. How long will I live? The moment I am caught with hot breadth, sneeze and fever. It's unpleasantness to live a lonely sick life.  Time is not same to everyone. People say joy and sorrow are two parts of the life, but for me joy is somewhere in the piles of sorrow.

I wonder "Who else will cry evenly with my tears for all those pain I bear" All have to bear their part of joy and sorrow. Often I see people who neglect the sorrowful parts and seems enjoying every-time. Is it what I am deceived or the real scene that holds true. 

What you see I may never see the same.Cloudy nights when stars are on vacation and I see the fireflies it feels like stars come to earth to play together. The starry sky has fallen to make me feel and enjoy the moments no one else could have.

Unknowingly I find myself falling from the sky, down into reality. Until now I lose it all. All my senses. Where was I lost – in vain?