Deep in the village, far from city's charm and gleam,
Primitive childhood days, with toys of mud we’d dream,
Swinging on tall tree branches, our airplanes up the skyways,
Butt scooting down the anthills, our high-end cars on highways.

Once a moonlit night so clear, with dazzling constellations afar
Would unveil a gem so rare, the SHOOTING STAR,
The stellar herald, our surest destiny's bearer,
That carried our dreams, through heavens' mirror.

We believed, if to this celestial magic, you spoke your wishes,
Assuredly, your future dreams would come true, even riches,
But only while the brief light streak shone, could wishes find their way,
Once gone from view, chance lost, 'til next uncertain day.

"I want to be a pilot!" one would exclaim,
"I wish to be a doctor!" another would acclaim,
"I'll be a president!" a soul would declare,
Wishes rolled as swift, as the star's radiant flare.

Today we're of age, the dreamed future's here and now,
The city’s beauty familiar, cars and planes are real, avow,
In our dreams, we still believe, hope gleams on our brow,
Ready to embrace our destiny, oh shooting star, where art thou?