With each passing day

The world’s declining.

“The future is bright,”

Becoming harder to believe.


We’ve stepped into youth

But we yearn for our childhood.

Oh! That carefree life.

The skill of extracting happiness

From the basest ore of moments!

That vision which

Turned umbrellas to weapons,

Pliers to strange beasts,

And treated toys as, well, toys.


Shoved by Time into the decadent world,

Pushed out of that enclave of our schools;

Fearful, clueless we stand.

Letting experiences rewrite

The chapters we had learnt.

Until we get tainted

By the darkness of this world.


But march on we must.

It is the age to make memories,

To be fools in our own ways,

To strive for a space we can call our own.

Prepared or not, we march on!


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