Seasoned Spirit

Stepping on a dead mollusc, enjoying the crackling sound,

Childhood was spent without knowing if simple pleasures could be found,

In innocuous escapades with friends who made you feel special,

And you thought it was your due, and nothing else was crucial.

Growing up seemed normal before you knew what life actually meant,

Some anecdotes still survive, and deeply impinge on your present,

Your first love, and the first kiss, the company of loved ones–all felt normal,

The morning sun, the cool breeze, the azure sky kept you under thrall.

Sometimes, failures made you morose, but soon vanished with the passage of time,

And the sun kept its diurnal routine, while you aged and wizened past your prime,

Looking back, you savour the past, and how simple things brought you this far,

On the stormy sea of life, you rowed on with your hands swinging the oar.

Now you are seasoned enough to test the wine of life with all its flavours,

And enjoy the punch of the aged spirit, soused with ordinary pleasures.

Kalucharan Sahu