A confused small kid…

Who resisted the internal rupture.
By changing them
rather letting them get changed
Killing everything that makes me- Me.       
(You are not making it any easier this way...)
Killing the person who got troubled by anything he felt wrong.

Anything which could turn him off...

Sentimental
Childish
Emotional freak
…Who wants to look good and do good.
A confused small kid…
 
I did it!
Became a sublime diplomat
Suave
Professional

Blatant
Untouched, unhurt and even cruel.
 
I was a believer
I turned agnostic.
From conventional to contemporary 
Dress sense changed.

Music changed.
Life style changed.
This was good.
But somewhere the person changed.
                (You tried to be my friend without knowing what I am or may be.) 
I want that confused look back in my eyes.
I want to trust people.
I want to give them their fair share in my life.

I want to be sentimental once again.
I want to love u.
 

  Seriously I want to love u.




Picture credits: Morbid melancholia, 2005, wash and ink on Handmade by Kumar Ashutosh

{ 14 comments ... read them below or Comment }

  1. A poem so meaningful. Thanks for posting this poem. It reminds me of many things.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you Aditya. It reminds me of a childhood as well

      Delete
  2. To grow up before you have to, to lose your innocence, to become a skeptic and let mistrust seep into your soul - nothing more tragic than that.. Deeply touching!

    ReplyDelete
  3. M feeling nostalgic... Thanks bro

    ReplyDelete
  4. Beautiful Poem and nostalgic too.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Replies
    1. if you are talking about the painting, thanks. it was made with ink and watercolor on handmade paper

      Delete
  6. It strikes a chord, We build a wall around ourselves, and wear many masks, sometimes to please people, to make ourselves 'suitable'. and sometimes to defend our fragile selves, so that no body can have access to our inner core and so less chances of getting hurt. Whatever may be the reason, innocence of simple belief is lost. This poem is haunting.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. @Meenakshi It is haunting indeed. The build up of this poem still haunts all of us.

      Delete

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