*Disclaimer* NOT A POEM. I initially set out to write my first poem but it waved, said Tata bye bye, and turned off course so I think it’s a quasi-poem now. No rhyme scheme, no meter, no order, no structure; Nothing. Just what I felt at that moment :p
I visit websites, I ask friends
I draw endless doodles with my pen
What exactly to write in a poem?
Your first achievement? Your many regrets?
What the hell should you write in a poem?
Suddenly shining through the hazy mist,
I get it. Suffice it will I think, my way,
Penning yourself is the way to go about it.
So as I sit down and delve into myself,
The universe comes to a standstill around me,
As I contemplate about me.
No doing. It has to ask that doesn’t it?
I can’t stop it. My brain comes up with that question,
That integral question which I just can’t answer…
Who am I?
Siddharth? Easy enough. But No,
That’s not the answer.
I know for certain, I’m not the Siddharth of old.
As I sift through the memories
Turning the pages of my life,
I find many Siddharths
Some grinning, some laughing,
Some crying, some regretting…
Happy. Depressed. Normal. Maniacal.
Is this who I am?
As I try to search for me; the real Me,
I grow confused.
All I can see,
All I can discern through the growing chasm,
Is a shadow… A many personalitied hybrid of me.
Getting fainter by the minute…
I catch hold of myself; to no avail,
He is slowly disappearing.
I now read through what I’ve written.
A poem? God, definitely not a poem.
What I’ve written is my deepest fear…
My primal unwavering fear
Of who I’ll turn out to be…
I set out in the beginning to pen who I am.
I know now that I’ve failed.
I don’t know. I just can’t explain myself…
Now, as I set down my pen, my eyes moist,
All I can do is hope.
Hope that I don’t wander too far away from my path.
Hope that I improve and never degrade.
Hope that I remain Siddharth…