• Location: Secunderabad
• Mood: embarrassed

The Staircase

I wrote my first poem when I was 10 and a half years of age.  The 6^th of December, 1999 1991¹.  The memories of that day came flooding back to me in a rush of amused astonishment and realization that I once was a kid, and I recognize that innocence, that lack of worldly insight and awareness that I had back then.  I'm still a noon noob² today, but I'm quite certain that I've moved on along the path to a slow, inevitably miserable death.

The day I wrote this poem, stands crystal clear in my mind.  I remember the weather, the odors and scents of the world around me, the colours of the flowers, the sun glistening off the fresh blood that was just beginning to coagulate upon my knee..  It's something I will never forget.

Here's the poem as it was originally written.  Don't laugh now..  :)

" The Staircase "

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In the early mist and fog, asleep,
        down the stairs that always creak,
shivering with bucket, mug and soap,
        Oh, the staircase, such a dope!

It's creaking away, at the nick of hope,
        as I brushed my hair, the staircase still a dope..

In the early mist and fog, asleep,
        I tried to warm my hands,
The staircase will always creak,
        I thought the staircase had got fangs,

I knew I could'nt stare and see,
        because I thought it looked at me.

I knew the staircase had no hands,
        when I saw how it hangs,
A lizard fell on me,
        so I shouted "Eek!",
                the staircase replied "Creak!".

Angirasa - 19911206³

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I'm going out on a limb here and am incredibly vulnerable to negative feedback (even positive can hurt fyi!, so be careful).  I was a kid when I sat down to write it, and I never went back to review it later.  This is the rawest deal that you'll ever get out of me (I think).  So wear your kiddy gloves please, I'm especially sensitive about this poem, 'cause when I wrote it back then, I was, and now again when I post it up for you guys to read, I still am a kid.  :)

This poem is among the first of a long string of literary embarrassments.  It's full of bungles and paints a stupid childish world.  So yeah, I do _know_ that the poem's not worth writing home about, and don't need to be told that either.  :)

Kaydeeyoh!

//update:
¹corrected weird year in date thanks to pinak
²spelling corrected by subtle_blues
³removed extra '0', thanks to subtle_blues