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Writings > Short Story > Autobiography

Young Man

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Time and time again

Like the needles on a clock

Almost like a mechanical device

We walk by life

We continue to age whilst in a daze

Feelings of numbness clench the senses


 Life in the past,

 No matter how wounded and battered the memories

Is now history only the pain of it subsists,

They then in some cases change your individuality,

You’re not who you used to be

The stage that we withstood

The stage we misunderstood

In the cage where we came of age

Still we remain in continuous daze

A chase for happiness that leads only to loneliness

We gaze and captured the beauties in life,

Though it gave us some happiness,

The feeling of that joy eventually fades…

Who knew one would mature and come of age

He ages in stages, physically he changes

His hair are white, knees are weak,

Yet mentally and spiritually he speaks,

The language of adolescent kids

Unlike his physical growth, spiritually he depletes

He remains with the same dreams that he dreamt of when we was in his teens

Stuck in a trap and perpetually sinking, like in a quicksand, he is steadily pulled in

Now old, he thinks he has conquered wisdom

Possessor of knowledge and a ruler of kingdoms

Though when he is alone by himself

A realization comes to mind

It says, “All the time you’ve spent,

What has it yield?”


In spite of all this he continues to waste his time

He regrets for not doing more

Yet he persist in misusing his time

The world, a temporal stage

So real, so surreal,

Seemingly eternal, obviously temporal

As he grows in age, death too draws closer

Health seem more obscure

Time seems more difficult to procure

Desires and gaining honour seems like the only doors

All these things he bought and got bored

Bought and got bored

Now that he’s old,

He thinks of how he should’ve ploughed his life

In a more meaningful manner

As to remain calm and with peacefulness in all matters

Though he is full off regrets

Hope yet remains there

Sadly old habits too remain

A young man today,

Old tomorrow








Previous short story:
Drebar-Drebar Selfish
Next short story:
Cigarette Smoke

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about the writer


Often seen as cold, bitter and distant but in reality is cool, sweet and not very distant..haha Sometimes I feel like saying what Kierkegaard said, People understand me so poorly that they even dont understand my complain about them not understanding me. On the other hand often I assume of understanding people i guess its a given or an irony or something else..depends on how you see it..
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