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Unwise by Farah P Jiandani, the poem that won India’s Biggest Creative Writing Competition

UNWISE

Unsettled, unnerved, uncertain,

The anxiety, like a lump

In my throat.

Not knowing where to start,

Not knowing where it’ll end,

Not knowing if this

Is what i want,

Not knowing how life will make me bend.

We’re supposed to be

In the same boat,

And yet each of our masts having their own burden to bear.

Some of us trying to stay afloat ;

Some, no longer care.

Naive, nettled, nefarious,

The neurosis, like fireworks

In my brain.

Not knowing what to do,

Not knowing what to fence,

Not knowing who is true,

Not knowing who is just a pretence.

We’re supposed to be on the train,

And yet the opportunities, we left behind;

Some of us pulled the chain,

Some, want to rewind.

Wicked, wasted, weak.

The fear, like the deepest

Pit in my stomach.

Not knowing who i want to be,

Not knowing who i have become,

Not knowing how i’ll find reprieve,

Not knowing how to be numb.

We’re supposed to be

On the same bus of luck,

And yet each of our journeys,

A different destination to reach.

Some of us are dumbstruck ;

Some, only try to preach.

Ignorant, incorrigible, imbecile.

The shame, like the

Weight bending my mane,

Not knowing how to dig the toil deep,

Not knowing how to strive,

Not knowing when to take the leap,

Not knowing when to feel alive.

We’re supposed to be

The pilots of our plane,

And yet we are lost,

In our own hurricane.

Some of us found comfort in the pain ;

Some, are still trying to

Wash off the stain.

Selfish, superficial, stooge.

The anger, like the wrinkles on the old parchment of my face.

Not knowing when i’ll make my path,

Not knowing when

To my wounds i’ll tend,

Not knowing where is the after math,

Not knowing where we start to mend.

We’re supposed to be running the race,

And yet none of us want to reach the finishing line,

Some of us matched the pace ;

Some, are climbing the incline.

Extravagant, egoistic, estranged.

The grief, like the anguish of a roaring ocean in my heart.

Not knowing if i’ll adapt,

Not knowing if i’ll fit in the act,

Not knowing if i’ll make an impact,

Not knowing if i’ll only be an abstract.

We’re supposed to be

A piece of heavens art,

And yet in each of us,

A different colour fades ;

Some of us need a fresh start,

Some, learn to change the shades.

But when they try to bring you down,

And take for themselves the crown ;

Remember they’re with you too,

In the past, present and future blue.

On the boat, train, bus or plane,

They too are trying to cut through lanes.

So when they call you names,

And engage you in their games ;

Do not be taken by surprise,

Better than arriving never,

Is to arrive unwise.

 Website: https://indiawritingproject.com/

By TIS Staffer
the authorBy TIS Staffer

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