25 Year Old Boy

Wordsworth said, “Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility”.

On the night of my 25th birthday, this September 14th, I was hanging with a few friends and late into the night, I found a corner and I took on a voyage through my past. I must have found serenity, because I came up with some of the best poems I have ever written.

It all started with slipping out a phrase “floating like a dead fish” on a chat conversation. I used it in a good sense, with a positive vibe, in the sense that you are flying high and your spirit is up. But isn’t it ironic?

Where Poets Are Born. This was my corner.

Where Poets Are Born. This was my corner.

I got possessed. And this happened.

Melancholy of a Semi-Quinquagenarian*

We often wish.
We want what we can’t.
Some do come true,
Lucky are the few!

Run up to me, give me a hug.
Let me feel your breath.
My soul needs to be touched.
Kiss my heart and you will see what I mean.

You drive, its raining.
Adele can sing.
Lets slide past the sleeping world;
Colors of infinity waiting for us.

Fuck the rules tonight;
they can wait.
What my heart craves for,
the solitude of the two.

The air in my breath,
knows my pain.
They have been there,
where it hurts the most.

Time slows down.
Music is loud.
My shoulder is heavy.
But I don’t care, heaven is here!

The breeze will be cold.
I will keep you warm in my embrace.
Let me smell your hair.
Let me tell you a story!

Come lay with me,
let me hold you.
Its raining outside.
Nobody seems to care.

Kiss me baby.
Let me sleep.
Time has come for them to take me away.
Goodbyes will weep.

The day shall come,
be by my side.
I will sing for you,
the song of my soul.

Daybreak is here.
My tea is hot.
My sun is here,
but my sunshine isn’t.

The music wont die.
My spirit lingers.

*Quinquagenarian = a person who is 50 years old.

For a few days after that, I felt old and it felt like I was part of a new club. @Mason actually said that to me in his birthday wish, ‘welcome to the over quarter of a century club’. And relatives slowly started mentioning ‘future plans’, if you know what I mean.

But the weight fell off when I was walking to Hari‘s home on a Friday evening. I was wearing a jeans and a tee-shirt. I had my skull cap on. Hari’s mom had made us dinner and fish. And the three of us (that is us and his amazing brother) spent the night chatting up on his balcony. We were having a slumber party. And I told him, we are re-living our teens. (Or maybe just living, because I never had a slumber party in my teens.)

Hari had recently turned 25 himself. I said, we are just 25 year old boys!

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