It’s 11:55 PM
Not an ideal time to be pensive
In a jiffy, his phone will beep with calls
He should be happy perhaps
Or should he?

Once there lived a boy
He was five
He had no future, no past
He lived in the moment
Cricket and good food were his greatest allies
And visiting his grandma’s village in the vacations
His warmest respite

Days go by
and he followed the rat race
Joining an Engineering College
Was the next obvious chase
He soon found a girl 
Fascinating, sweet, petite and demure
Silly guy, he thought he had found his lady luck

Days go by
He decided to write a poem on her birthday
With Ants in his pants, he showed it to her
‘You should write more, you are so talented’, said she
He had found his muse, and began writing voraciously

Days  go by
And the girl is now long gone
Sleep, eat, work, repeat is now his mantra
The spark of writing is now aloof
The writer in him, long dead

Days go by
and it’s 11:59 PM now
He thinks again
For one last time this year
That what the hell is he doing in life?

It’s 12:00 AM now
 He sees some materialistic gifts around him
If only he had it his way
Seeking right answers to his questions
Seeking them before it is too late
Seeking them before he grew old
Would be the only Birthday gift he had ever want

 

 

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