Something Poem by Ishan Chaitanya

This time I really
have to write something.
It's been so long
and I need a break
From loneliness, boredom
and feeling so empty
and useless. A well-done homework
For a sore loser,
a lost boy in a big town.

I thought it sufficient
to shake my bag of thoughts,
something would fall out
and I would be proud.
Look at me, still writing,
Struggling for a word,
then fumbling with it.
Like a toothless child.

Yes, old age can get to you
earlier than you expect.
You lose the edge,
The bite, the incision,
no matter how young,
you lose it and drown
in the nearest stale pond
of mediocrity.

Blame it on your Mom and Dad,
blame it on your teachers,
your friends and their friends
and the trees and the passers-by;
confusion sits stronger
in your colored mind,
gradually stiffening.

In the long run
maybe you can win this race.
It's not my thing, you know,
but make sure you know
your strength's not enough;
you're a fragile little monster,
dependent on above
and addicted to your petty
little misgivings.

Wow, what a shot,
I'd like to think it was worth it.
Writing is liberating,
close to a miracle;
and if you like it
it's even better,
but I can even live without that.
So we'll go on
at the expense of so-called life,
this borrowed self-imposed
unfortunate concoction;
we are writing,
we'll outlive this life for good.