Squandered Teens... Poem by PARTHA SARATHI PAUL

I know, they will respond to their impulses
and will greet them with broad welcome smiles
as a keen host or hostess answers to a door bell
so readily with eager hands and eager steps.

I know, they grow sick of sage words from all sides
as the fire inside their naivety burns all bold notices
with an inferno awaiting them a few wrong steps away
but as a rule somehow history has to repeat itself.

I know, they love to fly their bright emotion kites
sometimes from an open roof even without a parapet
even with the news of some 'fall-to-death' cases
for now the wills of flights play in blind high tides.

I know, they will grow on some moth-eaten days
and many years from now they will tell a grey tale
in a verse or a prose or in some hidden scribbles
with a grown scruple about the miscarried heydays.