Life is about a score old now,
Transforming from tenderness to maturity,
They come; they go, like quarterly seasons,
Shift, unpack, and start again from the scratch.
Mental turbulences soaring high,
A fake display of peace to the outside,
Glaring emptiness, lacking the balance,
Missing if any constant,
And then it reads “Still Single”!
The sort of state no less than a bane,
My ends they meet but still I crave,
That satisfying touch seems miles away.
It hurts (Ouch)..!!
To see them go around,
Inferiority complex gets the better of me,
A shadow I need,
An accomplice in the dark,
A home for secrets and treasures,
Whose hug would feel like a heavenly embrace
A delightful unison without half measures.
Dare not think that I didn’t try!
I was dumb and innocent,
A complete makeover! Obsolete no more,
Appearance, conveyance, attitude, career!
I scrapped it all,
And peeped from wall to wall,
But the image that was so hard to mend,
Stayed to had a mixed effect.
What else do I do?
When the remains of my old self are extinct!
My actions have no effect,
Or things don’t fall in place!
Do I understand their point of view?
To improvise or find a match,
I guess I don’t!
Insults are more than cures to this injury!
This may be one of the gleaming many.
Maybe my instabilities are a little too much,
Or they just don’t know me!
Do I need to reach out more?
The end of this transformation
May end this drought too,
And till that time it would read “Still Single”!
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