My life has become better, I’ve made mistakes and I’ve grown, Still has a long way to go.
I’ve learnt that I can’t be all, Nor can I please all. And that’s okay, ‘Cause I’m not born to be that way.
The child in me has been murdered, Killed by growing up. I’ve lost the ability to find happiness in the simple things in life.
But along the way, I’ve found myself a salvation; My will to express and not hold back, In paper. The reticent boy becoming a bold lion, The emotions becoming too much to suppress. ‘Cause with each stroke of the pen, I’m freer.
One early summer morning, I heard the birds chirp and closing my eyes, I chirped along. I croaked and almost choked while my neighbours stared at me with displeasure. The birds continued chirping anyway.
One fine summer noon, I figured I should learn something new. So I picked up the guitar and strummed a disorderly tune. My face blushed and I retreated to my bed and took a nap.
One rainy summer afternoon, I got excited to run in the rain, maybe even run naked like I used to when I was just a child. I didn’t because I’d grown hair at some places and it would be indecent. Instead, I reread a book by the rain-stained window.
One orange summer evening, I wished to take my bike out for a ride to a spot outside the city to behold the sight of the sun calling it a day. But I didn’t have a bike and contented that the neon signs looked just as beautiul.
One quiet summer night, I wanted to pack a toothbrush and my favourite shirt, take the cheapest train out of the town and run away just for the sake of it. Oh! To be a stranger again! I hardly slept that night.
But like every other summer day, I woke up late the next morning, took my breakfast at noon while watching Rio on Netflix. The heat was terrible so I stayed indoors and did not even notice the lazy sun go down, even as I tugged myself to sleep every night.
The city streets are familiar and cozy Adorned with signs and neon lights, One can easily move with the rhythm of the hustle and bustle. Direction after directions, the destination as sure as can be.
The forest path is untended and trodden less, Shadowed by bushes and weeds and thorns. The distant howl of the wolf is a strange sound, Where the trail ends as far as one paves the path.
It is easy to get lost in the forest, and sometimes scary, Which is why I travelled the crowded city streets. The lights are blinding and there is no quiet, But I have found an excuse to stay. Because where there is a way, there is a will.
Here’s to the unsung warriors, the lone soldiers and the wounded samurais – to all those fighting a war in life that is life itself.
Here’s to the fake smilers, the silent sufferers and the disguise wearers- to all those hiding beneath a veneer prescribed by society.
Here’s to the the grieving hearts, the betrayed hopefuls and the dejected lovers – to all those who has had their love, heart and hope trampled on the ground.
Here’s to our concealed heartbreaks, broken smiles and heavy hearts – to all the bitterness life has afflicted our way.
Here’s to the weary pilgrims, the lost travellers and the confused wanderers – to all those who has lost their way in the search for meaning.
Here’s to us – the survivors, the real heroes and the humans. Here’s to better days, to freedom and to salvation – to all the obstacles coming our way and the fight we shall put up, to all the love we will receive and the love we shall give.