Sand

Like sand in the grasp of my hand
trickling every second i get closer to growing old,
slips away my childhood bliss,
and with it the frivolousness.
The wondering child now wandering away
to an unreachable place far far away
The innocent tinkerer slowly fades
as the innovative thinker enlightens
like how sunlight brightens one and throws the other into shades.
The falling grains of sand distract me from keeping myself together
think i prefer the chaos atleast it didn't rip me apart.
They call it maturation,
they call it development.
Why does it feels like a marginalisation of myself like i have an impairment?
Pressure me up and blow it dry
Raise the heat and let me cry
Clear as sky
Clear as day
I feel my grasp losing mass.
I'd rather be grains of sand than a glass.