Though you’re passing me by
Without a sign of recognition,
Despite the loss of its smile,
Your once sanguine face,
Now wan and weary,
And peppered with bristles,
Can hardly escape mine.
I see no ring nor female company—
It must be the hair, my friend.
How can you let your signature clip
Run down like an untended rug
And collect so much salt and dust?
I almost take that mullet
For a wig too ill-fitted
To yours old, familiar face.
Do you still remember our hideout,
Backstage to the school hall,
Where we used to exchange
Crackers, crisps and candies,
And fealty to each other?
And how on the hopscotch boxes
We traded deadly kicks and knuckles
As sagely kung fu masters?
We were our year’s Wright brothers—
The courageous duo that piloted
Countless betas of paper planes.
And don’t you forget how,
With ball-pen rockets and rubber bombs,
Our pencil-box spaceships had conquered
Galaxies of alien planets.
But … today is today.
Just walk on by.
Don’t bother to ask me why—
If it’s my lack of audacity
To intrude your grown-up life,
Or my miserly want to alchemise
Our shared memories in golden past.
Please forgive me, my friend,
For not saying “hi”.
Photo Courtesy: alphacoders.com