At the end of the day,
I stand here
looking back in time
when writing along the dotted lines
was the only tough task,
no mask to be worn
for hiding what the truth was,
words running down
from the source of purity
nestled between our ribs.
I wonder at times about
all that I’ve lost,
about the cost
I had to pay for
what I had chased,
like a three-year-old
running recklessly after a kite
that had lost its way
amidst unknown land.
When sorrows were bartered away
for a handful of confectionery,
when there was potentially nothing
that could put us to worry,
when things were not
half as haphazard
as they now are,
when hope was not blurry,
and the dreams did not feel
like a mirage.
Words that people say
hurt deeper than bruised elbows
of the gone age.
I see it now and wonder
about how time changes
throughout the phases
of life, that ranges
from the lows to the highs,
and how walking on the smooth paths
of life now seems like a task
much tougher than
gliding pencils
through the dotted lines.

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Isha Banerjee is currently pursuing her degree in Science, Biotechnology. She likes to write, draw, and sing. In her free time she dusts off her already-clean bookshelves and drinks coffee.