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September 15th, 2026
by Utkarsh Soni
We wore the paper crowns of untamed kings, And chased the wind on heavy, golden wings. The world was painted in a breathless hue, When every frantic, racing pulse was new. We wept for fallen birds and skinned our knees, And spoke the secret language of the trees. But time is water slipping through the hands, It shifts the borders of our promised lands. The castles that we built of mud and stone Have yielded to the tide, overgrown. The armor that we forged from innocence, Has rusted in the face of consequence. Yet in the quiet archives of the mind, I read the fading ink we left behind. A bittersweet and deeply hollow ache, For all the careless vows we couldn't make. To look upon the mirror's shifting glass, And watch the ghost of who I was walk past. The child is gone, the seasons turn and part, But leaves a fossil pressed against the heart. Though everything we were must rearrange, The love we felt survives the crushing change.
About the Poet
Utkarsh Soni resides in Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh, India.
Read the poet's biography and Young Poets World publications
on Utkarsh Soni's Artist Page.
Young Poets Collection
This poem is also featured in
Young Poets Collection #3,
published in the Young Poets World Library.
Previously published in Young Poets 16 to 18:
Brain Dead
by Abioye Mahsudat
Young Poets 16 to 18 is part of Young Poets World and waxpoetryart.com.
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