I was looking at some of my old notebooks and came across some poems that I had written earlier.I dont get the time to write so much today..so reading through my old poems, articles, short stories was an interesting re-journey. Question is- does the maturity of understanding as reflected in our writings increase as we age? I don't know....and in order to explain the reason for this dilemna, let me share two poems written by me at 2 very different ages.
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Here's something I wrote when I was 19
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Here's something I wrote when I was 19
Illusions
They say life continues,
and yet another life ensues.
The end and the beginning then?
Many unanswered question again!
Mutiple colors on the picture of existence,
Bright , dull, gray and green,
The color of the specs, that's the essence !
of the Imagination-the vision of that which the color supports
Cause all that appears to be ,
is not what it is
And all that your specs construe
is that which you want to see
So that - which life offers is not what is destiny
Happiness and Sorrow?
you'd better find out !
before you cry your heart out.
But then you can't make sure either
Cause all state is one state!
like the pure white-
the spectrum of all colors.
The filter in your specs is what gives the Illusion of a difference
The need is to get rid of the specs and the questions would be answered
- Hopefully
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Here's a poem I wrote in my late twenties
Lines
Lines-
Some straight
others crooked
Yet strewn
all over
the face of life
Some deep,
others just a whisper
rising, moulding
and all granting
character to the
features of existence
Somewhere sparse
and elsewhere densely placed
Wonder ? Yes and
wonder I do!
What story of it's birth
does each line carry.
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