‘Being thirteen’

I was thirteen years old

and I dreamt of girls,

not knowing to masturbate.

But, shy kept me aloof.

Being outspoken was never thought.

Night falled with gluey water,

and I felt paranormal

of my own existence.

I newly heard of extraterrestrial beings,

thought myself to be one.

It was by leaps and bounds,

I discovered the nudist experience,

which became an art now.

When winter belts around

my country,

we play cricket.

Christmas watches our matches

with delight.

A New year was always waiting

in the pipeline.

It was twenty days before Christmas,

when I was thirteen.

The ground that we chose

looked at the girls

in a hostel.

It was uncanny

when two girls passed

with cards, I guessed

for the upcoming season

and, I committed treason

of being thirteen,

of being a philistine.

I said in the air

about people preparing

early for the ensuing season,

the festival’s got

yet twenty days.

It was in the impetuous air,

not cleverly intended.

But, the girls mistook

for them, and

I was punished with

soft voices

for being still thirteen.

I stood with a different

gaze. It was different

because of a new life,

I learnt to make mistakes,

and cherish that.

Thirteen passed,

I learnt from

the many written anthologies,

about the basic facts of life,

my friends were the confirmer

of those facts.

They made a man,

when I was still thirteen.

It was the credit

for being thirteen,

I skipped a probable penalty.

I learnt about a man,

being thirteen.