Monday, July 2, 2007

Growing Up

And there shall be no more time to climb trees.
Not that I have climbed any,
But the dream must cease
Because terrible things like higher education
Are going to happen to me.

And I must not whistle.
Not that I did it before,
But now that I can't do it anymore
The urge comes back to me,
And terrible things like maturity
Leave me completely at sea.

And I must not be inappropriate,
Whatever that means,
And my whole life leans
Towards Responsibility,
And terrible things like sophistication
Will change me horribly.

And there shall be no more time for laughter
As laughter is frivolity.
And income tax, and investments,
And a confusing salary
Are what I need, and my every deed
Will be held up to me,
Because terrible things like a Career
Are going to happen to me.

And there shall be no more time
To climb my childhood tree.

My eighteenth birthday approaches, and I feel littler now than I have ever done in my life. I think I'll dedicate this month to the pursuit of everything I love about being a kid. Now if you will excuse me, I have to go play football in the rain with my six year old neighbour.

5 kindred spirits have swallowed my rambling:

raghu said...

tension not.. u can lotta fun ven during higher edu re.. tensio not at all.. 18 17 all same same.. only u can watch adult movie aaram se :D

new age scheherazade said...

the only childhood pursuit i was into was reading. which is not a childhood pursuit.
which is why I started out old and am now growing younger.
but yes. the thought of being 18 gives me the blues too.. :(

speedpost said...

dude.... hats off barkha sharda you finally did it!!! sonali and me are proud of you...
oh and lala still likes you

megha said...

Eighteen isn't that different from seventeen, or sixteen, I think. If anything, it's more exciting. Getting closer to the day when you'll go kayaking in Iceland, at any rate.

Bryan Miller said...

Awesome, u really are good
thing's fascinating, dunno how u can all suddenly change when u're 18 though, still nice excuse for good poetry