By Piyush Rai
What is this age?
Why it feels like an ironical rage?!
Why do we feel anything and everything so intensely?!
And other times incapacitated with no feelings no density
Why are emotions valued in hindsight?!
Interests are picked overnight
And trashed! As only a momentary delight
Why our parents seem so delicate that it breaks us inside?!
And other times ignorant and obsolete in their slow strides
Why do we find ways to escape
the muddling monotony?!
And then long for the home
And your mothers’ gnomes
About the world and yourself
And the long hours on phone
Ah! It’s rarely regimented in dichotomy
Low on good cholesterol
High on bad ones
Walnuts don’t do the magic anymore
nor do the almonds.
The creepy health stuns the sanity
The smile funds the brevity
And shuns being a pity!
Copper water is not enough
other metals are eclectically tough.
And life elements, the beautiful life elements
The oxytocins and the dopamines
have become booze branding buffs!
We do live the romance, however,
only vicariously
We do things we like
only cautiously
Unabashed as we may sound
don’t we pick our words
mostly wisely!
Our nerves get us? More often now; why?
The broken heart parades
in the disguise of a cheeky cry
The cries then die though
The imagination fails
The facade crumbles asunder
Rehashing the reflections under
We grow!
So!
What is this age?!
Well it is a delightful IRONICAL RAGE?!