Near Thirty

I hesitate at turnstile doors; the exits and entrances
All a-whirl on this carousel ride.
My agoraphobic footsteps, warped in stasis,
Hear the echo of journeys that never were.
‘These are but the mid-twenties crisis,
No more but a catchy coinage!’; they cry,
‘How dare you complain of ennui,
Is it the latest among the many clothes you try?’
‘But clock is catching on, no more’, they say,
‘Of this nomadism, hunting-gathering experiences,
Settle, harvest, produce, establish and be
The new status quo. We grow old, wither, wane
High time, won’t you now institutionalise?’
I await signals to blink messages: rescue, run, hide;
The worlds shimmer my favourite shades of blue
Azure, sea-green and lapis lazuli, flashing neon dreams.
Side-stepping choice, blindsided and short-sighted
I am warped in stasis, I cannot compartmentalise.

 

 

 

 

3 comments

  1. Maaz Bin Bilal Aug, 2014 at 5:54 am

    Loved it. Especially the refusal to compartmentalise.

  2. Sanyukta Sep, 2013 at 8:32 pm

    Thanks Shloka. very encouraging!

  3. Shloka Shankar Sep, 2013 at 8:13 pm

    Impeccable diction. 🙂 Loved your poem! 🙂

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