at twenty five.

They called it quarter life crisis,
an existential dilemma one cannot escape.
A phase one simply goes through,
forget even as the worlds keeps on spinning.
A period of confusion and epiphany,
a small hurdle in the long run of fate.
Is this the face of failure or shot in success –
oh such feeling of youth, full of unrest.

In celebration of Bad Poetry Day (18th August), I made a little poem that talks about the ‘bad’ phase one goes through at 25.

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