In a hurry to grow into what the society called men and women, we ran
A sprint, but not a short one
Selling our age in return for the title!
Unaware the luxury of joy and fun shall be sold
To the shopkeepers wearing suits and ties,
We ran all the way down wondering where the finish line was

Sometimes ringing a bell, and sometimes holding a candle
Sometimes bowing our heads low to the ground in silent prayers
A race well set up and planned ahead by the master above
Like that composition in a major scale with a pinch of minors
Fitting right in the four bar space!

Springs came and went, like the short summer night
We fought... Till we grew like the cedars,
Only to be cut down by the ever strong time
We grew into handsome and gorgeous poets
Singing our own poems as we ran towards the title...

I wonder if we ever lived? Or was it just a race
Probably entertaining the beings above,
Hanging onto the clocks of and, running in circles
How old is time? How many titles have been given away?
But who cares, Lets sing the songs
Sing our own poems as we run along side!

For its not the title that will be remembered
But the songs and poetry...
Resonating till the time grows old!