Poem: September heart-to-hearts

A September evening at Upper Lake, Bhopal
“a **generation lost** in **space**, **with no time** *left to start again”* *– Don McLean (Miss American Pie)*

Nine kids are playing and having fun,
sunkissed from September Sun.
A man comes and says to one:
‘Nine are the letters in September, son!’
Kid-one counts with his little fingers and his one little thumb
‘Old man, are you done?’ says kid-one.
‘It is my favorite month, little one’
says the old man with a grunt
‘It is mine too, it’s my birthday month’
says kid-two pointing her toy gun
‘Oh yes little miss it’s a popular birthday month
but, that’s not the reason why it’s my favorite one’.
Kid-three falls free from a tree and
sticks out his tongue,
pretending to be killed by the toy gun.
Kid-four, feeling bored, rummages in his little bag;
finds a cookie and says
‘Oh yeah! A cookie, I love my sweet mum!’

Old man’s wrinkled cheeks spread into a big one smile,
kids can fall from trees
kids can eat many (mum’s) cookies
and they can run miles.
Kid-five paddles his shiny red bike
flashing the sinking red Sun.
Kid six, the tiniest of all nine
trails behind his elder brother,
racing to outpace the shiny red bike;
failing, but trying.
”Oh, and there we were all in one place,
young and fine.
Like you kids,
we were also a group of nine.
Just a little older than you are,
we were in our prime.
We had dreams and we had time.
It was a September evening like this one
and the Upper River was as red as wine.
We were sitting on its bank
and having a heck of a time.
When one of us, Adam, abruptly started crying
Others fell silent at once, ‘cuz you see
Adam was all about the fun and energy.
He was the joker of our group you see
and that’s why I thought he was doing it mockingly.
After the sobs became more punctuated
by quick breathes and his chest inflated and deflated
and the Upper River grew louder in silence
Then the eight of us grew worried about Adam’s mental health
and wondered if he belonged in an asylum
because he did break the silence
but with the lyrics of a song by Don McLean
“We’re a generation lost in space,
with no time left to start again!
There we were all in one place
a generation lost in space
with no time left to start AGAIIIIN!’
He sang it over and over again until he began to cry again.
Like in class during a lecture
when someone farts and
even after the teacher scolds you kids
and tells you to stop
you can’t stop laughing,
that day, kids, Adam couldn’t stop crying.”
‘The old man stops and starts coughing’

‘Why was he crying,
was he dying,
I feel sad for Mr. Adam’ asks Kid-7,
with an almost adult frown upon her pale face
with no trace of any childish smile.
Kid-8 on the other hand,
buries his face in his hands.
He, apparently still hasn’t gotten over
that fart joke made by the old man.
”No, little missy, Adam wasn’t dying.
Though he said, in between sobs,
that he once had tried
‘to put an end to the misery, that is, his life
and I thought to myself
the Adam the eight of us (his closest friends) knew,
the Adam who mocks everyone in sight,
the Adam who makes awkward jokes to make a situation light,
the Adam who is fine,
has been replaced
and that, this new Adam is a whole new person
like a twin from another dimension.
So, he recited the lyrics again
and we listened to them the third time;
in the dying sunlight,
the river bank was deserted
and the sky was grey with spots like coffee-blights.
What was eating our old Mr. Adam was the fact
that eventually eats all living kinds
The fact that we are dying.
The fact that, even though we were young
And in our prime,we didn’t have all the time.
The fact that,
Our dreams will remain dreams till the end of our lives.
Mr. Adam thought he had lost
by choosing all the false solutions in his life.
And now he had no time to start over,
he couldn’t turn back time.
It was September the ninth.
I like to think of it as the best date in the whole calendar of 1979:
The day Adam turned our little gang of twenty-year-olds
into Adults.
Kids, the law knows nothing about being an adult;
people like Adam do.
I sympathize for Adams of the world.”
Kid-9 turns to the old man
and recites a rhyme
‘Old Mr. Adam was not feeling fine
so he whined and whined and whined and WHIIIINED!’
All the kids joined in
and the chorus made the old man chuckle.
Kids don’t fear the tomorrow
and they don’t have buckles between their mouth and tongue.
Being a kid is to live in the moment
and recite your mind out loud in the Sun.
‘Okay kids now you know,and I hope you’ll not forget
that being a kid is a blessing and also that you met
an old man who was dressed
in old-man-clothes
one September evening,
who babbled about September
and how it’s his favorite month,
who babbled about another old man,
some Mr. Adam,
I think you’ll understand Mr. Adam more
as you’ll get old,
and will remember
the old man who was dressed in old-man clothes
one September evening,who babbled about September
and how it’s his favorite month.’

Dedicated to the Adams of the world

This was my first time writing a long poem. I care very much for the old man at its center. In a way he reminds me of my grandfather who now rests in peace.

I hoped you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it 😊
Lots of love ❤️

-jay
09/05/2020

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