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To My Twenties
On certain subtle foggy nights,
I wonder what the twenties would feel like.
Would they make me wise enough to choose?
Or would they leave me all the more confused?
Would I finally have a favourite colour?
A map of things that I'd cherish throughout life?
Or maybe simply figure out what I dislike?
Would I finally make the right wish to a shooting star?
And maybe love my curls for what they are?
Would I find a purpose every morning?
Or would I return back misplacing a part of my naive heart some eves?
Would I still overthink myself to sleep?
Or would I finally perfect the art of weaving my what-ifs into poetry?
Would I muster up the courage to voice it out with a smile?
And if I ever do,
O' dear twenties, would you listen to my musings, over a coffee?
a_lone_observer
© Pratiksha Saikrishna
I wonder what the twenties would feel like.
Would they make me wise enough to choose?
Or would they leave me all the more confused?
Would I finally have a favourite colour?
A map of things that I'd cherish throughout life?
Or maybe simply figure out what I dislike?
Would I finally make the right wish to a shooting star?
And maybe love my curls for what they are?
Would I find a purpose every morning?
Or would I return back misplacing a part of my naive heart some eves?
Would I still overthink myself to sleep?
Or would I finally perfect the art of weaving my what-ifs into poetry?
Would I muster up the courage to voice it out with a smile?
And if I ever do,
O' dear twenties, would you listen to my musings, over a coffee?
a_lone_observer
© Pratiksha Saikrishna
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