These days, i find myself writing more and more about my youthfulness and the dirge that would soon become of it.
As someone who is still within the comfortable boundaries of his twenties, i look forward to another twenty years from now, and all i see is a stranger in the mirror, one or two deep creases on the forehead, three Children screaming 'Daddy', A wife who is constantly threatening to sue for a divorce and a fair sprinkle of grey hair.
Ageing scares me, and so i have learnt to talk about it everyday, until the day i would wake up and realise that finally, i had aged.
My Ageing Youth.
Day has hid its bright face,
Dusk invades the atmosphere,
It rides on the back of darkness,
The good days have bowed out.
A scene winds down.
Sorely, i miss the variant voices,
The arguments and agreements,
In the thick of dusk,
When the blackness had veiled the pole. Time stole upon us unawares
And usurped our youth and exuberance.
I long for the days past,
When our scuffles terminated in laughter.
Times when our shouts violated the night,
When our jokes defied the sacred midnight,
Beautiful memories of jests and jokes and.
We all blossomed into independence,
Responsibilities began to weigh in,
Sons must father sons,
Youth must prepare for days of grey hair.
Alas! The echoes of our laughter
Are carried away by the cares of adulthood.
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