Hello there!
I am Aswath, a new writer on Vocal, although I have been around for some time in Medium - and I would like to post through this medium (ahem, ahem) as well. I would love to hear your thoughts and opinions about what I write, how I write!
Thanks!
For this poem, a slight context. I originally wrote it almost an year ago (disclaimer below for original link), at a low point in life, when I decided enough is enough. It has been quite the year since then.
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Stability, one says, is the aim for his age, The day of routine, the month of good wage, Inflexible to change, one easy to manage, The rest of life’s goals shrunk to one page. Shakespearean, bystanders to life’s stage, Swept away without a squawk, as its torrents rage, A product with little will, yet professing to be sage, Preaching everyone else to act their age.
I’m too old, too tired, busy or weak or not pacified, Reasons fly off the bat, claiming to be justified, Stonewalling any stimuli outside a life ossified, “Too late”, the altar upon which are they crucified. The so-called grown up as such people are typified, Unlike their childhood self, never to be stupefied, Excited, afraid, daring, discovering, or mystified, Blinded in a haze, no inclination to be rectified.
A familiar trope, muses as he pen these lines, Having tied myself to few, if not all, of these vines, Retreating to comfort, far from pits or landmines, An adult, replete with the mentioned telltale signs, Ebbing towards the mundane is what he inclines, Or so he believed, firing off everyday’s engines, With every night, even as a voice in him shines, Raising it’s question on what his life defines.
A reason beyond reason, doubting the stories sold, Feeding the desire to leave the shackled daily fold, To take one more step into the unknown, bold, The mind and body thaw, leaving a frozen cold, And expand the view, look more at the world. For every new thing could be a wonder to behold, A treasure hunt, seeking that soul, the inner gold. This could just be the start of a great story told, To keep growing, one is never too old.
[Disclaimer: This poem was originally published by me in my Medium account on the 28th of October, 2022. I am repurposing it into this new platform, since I heard of it very recently]
About the Creator
Aswath Subramanian
Solar Engineer | Green Energy Master | Explorer of thoughts | Eternal student.

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