When you were eight the world was simple, huge
and so small. The way to the football pitch took as long
as the game itself and beside it—nothing existed
At twenty-one the world was divided into two
and you; the army (for which ending you waited) and civilian life
(which you awaited in awe, afraid only of its arrival)
Thirty, the world is magnificent and disruptive. Marking
on the map the places which you've seen (or want to), you stop
by the pitiful, war-torn lands (also yours, at home)
You are at home now, reading and writing, happy
with the end of another Sisyphean working day. She is in the hospital,
taking blood, putting lines, monitoring decaying life
Troubles, you realize, are something that have to do with others.
The young die too young, the old get too old. In between
you are caught in the trap of thought, forgetting that
every thing is relative.
You chose the right title for you poem, and painted a truthful picture of life.
Reply to this
thank you,
i am really happy to hear that..
Reply to this
Very happy to see Dhyan here, as his work never disappoints. This is no exception.
Reply to this
Thank you Danielle,
much appreciated.
Reply to this