An ode to the old

This poem is for those who planned life and then looked back and laughed at those plans.
And this poem is a quick glance at the bumpy yet fruitful ride, life is.

I often wondered what growing old would be like
what would it be like to miss a friend
to nurse an aching heart
to lose a beloved
to get high
to earn money so that I could spend it and then crib about earning more money
to get into a brawl but maybe in a court room
to raise a child by myself
to run a home and an office and a life
to fake smile
to cook and clean and shave almost everyday
to get less trials and more errors
to hurt and get hurt

I often wondered what growing old would be like
I’m half way through and it’s not half as fascinating
Infact, it’s tiring
and the wiring
inside my head loosens up
and it sends a current down my spine
I shut my eyes and travel back in time

I sit by the window pane, on an empty bench
as the kids run up and down during the lunch break

It hurts a little when I tick off L from F-L-A-M-E-S
but it can be forgotten easily knowing love isn’t meant to be here.
Then where?
He’s there in the future, he’s still getting made, I’d say to myself.
But friends, they were right there.
Filling up my arms with green and blue bands
markers read permanent but even they wiped off with time

I’m here now. Back to somewhere.
They don’t write on hands anymore coz corporates have rules.
He’s gone
or maybe he’s still getting made, who knows.

I often wondered what growing old would feel like.
It feels like a trap.
I guess, I still have a chance at growing up?


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