May be that was the day I grew up

handed over to me, the manuscript to read-

the name of the historical kings and queens,

the years and locations of their reign and wars,

the politics involved, the artifacts found,

I clasped the bound, yet loose pages,

into my fist to climb over to the roof,

(some 35 feet high, and 18 feet wide)

allotted time was equivalent, to my capability to

record all the words into my eyes, onto my tongue,

(to recite for the oral test later by the tutor),

that day, I was too distracted by the fire streaks,

running through, the evening sky of dull blue,

and even though I had a task to do, I perched

on a thick wall, the boundary of the terrace,

deep in thought, of the thoughts of an 11 year old,

the colours changed, from crimson to lilac, and

in the end, to what blush could be of the embers,

my ears dumb, to the hollering of other kids, who

played beneath my standing, on the street-

hide and seek, iron-wood, i-spy, but I knew little

of them, my conscious aware of those lives,

of the kids, liberated to bawl and call, while

I was captivated, by the free thinking of my own mind,

and I wonder if that was the very moment, when

I grew up and left away, storing the childish things

into the bubbles of memory, and moved ahead

to realize all what is life, who I am, the questions

that would have appeared, so heightened for

my lanky body, I was a little chubby… now I smile

at what came to pass that day, that twilight,

because I am still that same child, who couldn’t

be like others of my age, I am a single player,

just me, as I am with myself, amusing myself,

within my own framework and knowledge,

the act of thinking, that day, had become my new game


This is tagged as the post for 10 November for NaBloPoMo. If you want to read the previous 9 poems of this month… just drag your icon to the drop-down menu named Home, within which you would find poetry, within which you would find a category by the name of NaBloPoMo.

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