"Identification?"
Asked the gnarled old oak, a towering sentinel
Standing amid the haphazard woods.
I stood there, aloof,
A mocking smile slowly caressing the boundaries of my lips,
Clearing and forcing its sluttish self through
The age-old wrinkles
That had set in when
Life,
Hadn't been so smooth and seamless.
For how could I tell him what I didn't know myself?
Who was I, really?
A question of millions.
Was I the absorbed nerd who walked down
The leaf-strewn pavement, book in hand;
Combed hair framing seedy face;
Eyes adorned by spectacles and dark circles alike,
Trudging through the slushy premise
Of diagrams and paragraphs and numbers?
Or was I the insolent loudmouth,
Who didn't think twice before swearing in class?
Was I the loving son
Who hugged his mother every morning,
Or the oblivious boy who went to sleep
Without a single word?
Was I the foolhardy,
Who deliberately jumped the signal
Just for the thrill that accompanied,
Or the conscientious,
Who waited for a bus every afternoon?
The brashly impulsive,
Who chose the seedy side-alley to the bustling boulevard
Running through the deserted dirt track, school bag in hand,
Hoping for the risk to make up for the clock?
Or the strenuously meticulous,
Running through each step of the schedule every morning
Making sure there were no mistakes?
The eloquent,
YOU ARE READING
Salt And Ink
Poetry(#1 in Poetry 14th November 2015- 14th December 2015) (5th in What's Hot- Poetry, 20th January 2016) Cover picture- grunge (WeHeartIt) "Prepared thus to close, he raised his knife, Death came later; he was stabbed by life." When my ballpoint buckles...
