When The Fountain Of Youth Awakens Poem by Pushp Sirohi

Beneath the ribs of ancient stone it sleeps,
A silver breath the tired world still keeps,
A pulse of time that learned how not to die,
A secret stitched in earth and sky.

Tonight the stars align their trembling flame,
The moon forgets its age, remembers its name,
And hands of light unlock the hidden seal—
The fountain stirs. The ages kneel.

Rust falls from veins, from bones, from breath,
Wrinkles unlearn the language of death,
The heart beats backward through its scars,
And drinks once more from newborn stars.

Hair remembers midnight's shine,
Blood runs wild with first-time wine,
Old grief dissolves in younger skin,
And life begins where it's been.

Time, the tyrant, drops his crown,
As youth comes roaring, not tiptoeing down,
The soul stands tall in a future face,
Reborn in the fountain's holy grace.

O wanderer, drink—but understand:
Youth is not just flesh and hand,
It's wonder lit behind closed eyes,
It's falling up instead of down through skies.

For when the fountain truly wakes,
It's not the body alone it remakes—
It reboots courage, restarts dreams,
And stitches hope into your bloodstream.

So drink, not out of fear of age,
But to remind your soul how to engage—
For the real Fountain of Youth, in truth,
Is the moment you choose to live as youth.