Unlucky for some, apparently. I’m going to stick with the previous poem’s theme of teenage life. In Punjabi 13 is said as tera, which also means ‘yours’. So, this poem is about young love, and it’s called, I’m 13. It’s trying very hard to be a sonnet…
I’m 13 (tera)
I had my first drink on a crowded Metro
sat next to you. I took in your perfume,
choked on hops, and when you with me in tow
jumped off I knew I was thirteen, and who
knew what that meant? Agreed with everything
you said, sent bullshit texts talking of stars,
and when you didn’t reply, thought scathing
things about you; who only had a half
measured understanding of what being
thirteen meant. Who bought a knitted scarf
with money I gave you. You were loved.
I often look back and wonder why I
acted that way, but of course, I was tera.