only sixteen years of a salty age
precisely a lifelong of suffering
blossomed a misery stricken old woman
from within and beyond,
who refused to change--
for anyone and everyone.
and sometimes, the hare decides to dig
up his burrow, himself
just as mastering the art of dressing fresh cuts
and all along the unreasonable celebrations,
faking smiles and making up stories
came naturally,
like mother’s warmth and lover’s affection.

It’s pretty strange how
merely few years are enough
to taste the bliss of ignorance
and the bittersweet tang of deceiving lies
because as I grew older
every day and every minute,
all I saw was this realization going firm
the truth turning shattering
and perspectives, going concrete than ever 

thunder and breeze
pain and gain
melodrama and solitude 
passion and pity parties,
I understood it better
how oppression was nature
and judging was only a sign of life
hating was being human
rejection was a stepping stone
and I learned it well.

there is so much more to life
than all we choose to hold to
and there is considerable substantiality  
in dreaming with eyes open
and preferring emotionality over intellectuality
questioning nature
and rejecting eternity, murdering mortality 
in losing hope, in hope
and chasing the contradictions.

I wouldn’t find a finer example
of self-lessoning
on what's right and wrong
on swallowing the naïve wild,
while on the road to self destruction for too long,
following the blood trails--only to realize it was mine all along
and calming the fierce storms,
of locking all demons inside,
and building my walls up--
high enough, to keep everybody out.

this serves as an epilogue 

to the phase of my years in teen
and bidding farewell

to what they call sweet sixteen,
where one half was wrapped 
within impetuous bright burst
and another, sighed out
as one prolonged apathetic smolder. 


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