Vice

Once upon a time, there was a girl.
Dreams and desires, her heart would swirl,
She wanted to live life, her way,
Not much she knew without vice, there is no way.

She was 18 when she fell in love.
First love, we all know what it’s like,
Entire family abhored her choice
That was indeed her vice.

She went ahead and married him.
Soon she regretted adoring him,
They went separate ways in no time,
She was paving her way into life.

On a journey she met another man,
Religiously separate yet, they drew their plan.
Will make this marriage work, she thought?
The worry made it worst, and she lost.

Then came the cameraman.
She thought to herself, she had some swag,
Trying out religion, with every man.
True as she was to herself, vice was all she delt.

Decades passed as this continued for her,
A young girl, she was now much older.
She decided to look back to retract,
What made her ‘her’, rewind the patch.

The constant hatred of the family,
The constant worry to die alone.
One day she decided, what she wanted badly,
And she left the house, in apathy.

That’s the moment she was sure,
What she had endured,
Her decision to make this her last choice,
Turned out to be her last vice.

The troubled ones

You are a toddler, when you start to understand,

You run from one end of the room to the other, trying to make sense of each step you embark,

You fall and retrieve with nothing to look back to,

Everyone is around to nurture you

You then become a kid, young man as they tease,

School, books and exams, & friends to loiter around,

You break and make up with the others,

All is done under peer pressure

Then comes the worst of all, a teenager who walks tall,

Neither are you a kid, nor a young man,

Not close to being an adult yet not too far to know it all

Adolescent to adult, a sudden shift enduring,

Pressurizing future and anxiety within,

From a toddler to an adult, the journey felt forever,

Entering a phase of life, where you are the youngster in contour

Youth! The phase in life… Where you know it all, yet you don’t,

You want more of it, but time just won’t,

Giving birth and the life-cycle turns, troubled ones we all become……

Painting