In the middle aged road in the middle of the day ,
Sun baking hard , making up for the rain last night
I stand alone scratching my sweaty palms
Perturbed by the fact that this itch never goes away.
Three decades and some cycles of seasons ,past me in breeze ,
But If I am asked to recall the moments, it’s forgettable bunch indeed .
There are little things to treasure , but lot more to reflect
What could have been and what it’s not , but it’s the why that reign supreme.
Born with ticks on all boxes , a name to carry and more
region , caste , religion , country it took decades to drain them all .
life spent stripping myself , I am now tired and exposed ,
drifted in some unknown realm , Guess my life has run its course.
Naked are my thoughts and naked are all the meanings
Though neither liberated nor ashamed ,
It’s the bare walk on a rocky broken road ,
With few grassy wet patches in between .
Found little but lost much more I feared I’ll lose it all
But then as I plunged I found a hand to let me stay afloat.
It never stayed long But it did help me find my feet ,
That little itch in my sweaty palms , is it that hand I long to reach ?
I started moving on that road or that road is moving with me ,
Middle aged with roughed up edges I think we get along .
Drifting away on that little bend you might lose my sight ,
I’ll drag along whatever comes , still some battles left to fight.
