Beauty of Age.

I wonder why people always complain about growing up. Growing up is so beautiful. It gives us wisdom, and knowledge, and experience.
I want to grow.
Meet new people.
Listen to the music.
Understand poetry;
Sure a child can party and sleep whenever he wants. But I want to wake up, and travel, inhale different sunrises and absorb different stories.
I want to feel love; and heartaches. I want to see people leave in the hardest of my times. I want to see my wrinkles take over my beauty. I want to see my hair grow grey and then white.
I want to grow up; and witness life happening.


The Oceans

I prefer ocean over earth.
Who talk to me without saying a word.
Who shine on the surface But have shades of grey under their skins.
Who hide treasures
And turn tears into pearls.
Unpredictable and bold,
Flexible and sensitive.
Who are not afraid to take in filth of the world with their tides;
Who have been surfed over.
Who have secrets buried below the ground,
Yet reflect sun in their smiles.
Who don’t belong to anybody,
And nobody belongs to them.
I crave such people.
People who, despite of having their unsettled waves,
Have peace and harmony inside them.