The Wheel Of Time

By Nakul Balar

Yesterday morning I thought I was seven,

And in the evening they told me I was eleven.

And yet today they say I have turned nineteen,

Wasn't I playing with my friends as I was just thirteen?

I'm nineteen and still holding on to this empty screen,

Where I write my life's every scene.

And slowly I see my childhood tearing apart,

But wasn't I just in my class making a pie chart?

And slowly responsibilities are piling up on my shoulder,

Feeling no less than being crushed by a boulder.

Never realised I was my father's only hope,

Unable to figure out how do I even climb this slope.

There's nothing I understand in this twisted place,

Doubting myself if I am even qualified for this race.

I find myself around people all high and mighty,

How do I explain to them that, guys, we're not even twenty?

Question to everyone who has already completed this race,

Am I too slow, or should I be on my own pace?

Are my dreams worth chasing,

Or should I keep racing?

By Nakul Balar