Sing the song of yesteryears,
Lilting melodies of bygone days,
Soft interludes with flitting butterflies;
Of eventides, youthful joy and heady mirth:
Careening down the greening slopes,
Lazy scrambling up Kothari Parade,
Strumming guitars well-nigh to midnight hours;
Sighting the far, prancing moonlight on oyster rocks,
Softly caressing dazzling surf of silvery waters;
Sweet the passing wakes of rolling Time,
Gentle the breezes of salty tinge,
Soulful memories astride Old Clifton Top!
Gone the days,
Pale the evenings,
Dark the nights:
Soul-less, mirth-less, withered now,
High-brow Qasim Baghs and Shopping Malls,
Running amok the frenzied crowds!
The restless Spirit of Old Clifton Top,
Dreaming of the ‘yesterdays’,
Fulfilling the best of ‘todays’,
Hopefully awaiting the ‘tomorrows’:
Wistful sighs for those springing times,
Of bygone days on Old Clifton Top!