This is a poem that I wrote when I was approximately of the age 14. It has a somewhat tepid beginning and end, but a reasonably robust metaphor in the middle that sees it through. It was published in Sahitya Akademi's "poetry with young people" (all letters deliberately in lower case), edited and compiled by Gieve Patel.

Hopefully, more writing will follow. Mine's a rusty tap.


Most things don't usually make sense.
There's always that little piece askew
That makes everything seem wrong,
A facet of life. It is inevitable.

Then comes the struggle to make everything right.
We run around like clucking chickens
Pulling out those disturbing worms;
But with every worm pulled out
Two new ones appear.

And then the major question-
How to get rid of that troubling piece.
My answer is, there is no hidden way.
Embrace those tiny pieces;
Accepting them. They are something to puzzle over. 


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