Golden Picnic

A tender ode to a child's first escape from city life, Golden Picnic captures the wonder of sunlit meals, barefoot joy, and seaside stillness — where every motif is a memory unwrapped in warmth.

I’d never heard the wind without a wall,
Or felt the sun without a windowpane.
The waves, they didn’t echo — they would call,
And I, for once, could answer back, not feign.

My shoes came off. I ran like I belonged,
Not in a crowd, but in the hush of sand.
The sea was loud, but nothing ever wronged—
Just stories slipping softly from its hand.

We ate on cloths, not chairs. We used no screens.
Mum’s hair was down. Dad grilled with smoke and grin.
I built a boat of twigs and mango skins,
And named it “Home” — it didn’t need to win.

The city gave me rules, sharp, fast, and thick—
But here, the world was round, and warm, and quick.