The word makes the heart teeter.
Tomorrow, will I be flaunting,
Or oh! Will it be daunting?
Will the boat acquiesce, in harmony with my decree,
And bring cachet, brimming my heart with glee?
Or will the tides be at odds, and thwart my manoeuvre,
Making my path awry, by leading my barque wander haywire,
Will I turn a writer as my heart desires,
And bleed my soul gaily into pages, humdrum and anaemic?
Or will I be cajoled to chase things, mind-numbing
Leaving the vivacious petals of my grey matter wilting?
Gaarh!!Wait! This ain't me!This ain't my style!
These sceptic, weak lines are vile, juvenile!
Oh yes! Tomorrow is the day that is mine!
It is left for today's actions of mine to determine..
I'll sing, I'll paint, I'll write tomorrow with my pen!
To make myself happy, on whom must I depend?
I would never stand in the queue,
Would seek for my unique path to pursue..
To realize my dreams, I'll incessantly gallop
Though my experiments sometimes wallop!
Because, framing a path of my own
Though my attempts seem forlorn
Is far better than stepping thoughtlessly into an abyss
Being one among the million in the shepherd, and finding bliss!