Wednesday, March 14, 2012


We often pine for the days of yore,
Lost in the sands of time, shut from the present like a slammed door,
With regrets expressed as tears that can fill many a pore,
It’s as futile as murder for revenge with gore;
Feelings of guilt in an individual, expressed to the core,
Are as normal as getting a bedsore;
Something that can retard is fear,
As making mistakes is inevitable, and no one’s really a Seer,
Who can introspect and know your own self better than you;
Risks have to be taken and thus emerge a successful few,
Who’ve realized their true potential and believed in their dreams;
They don’t need to crib about not having lived well, as their enthusiasm bursts at its seams;
They don’t yearn for memories in the past, as life for them is never as bad as it seems;
Breaking the shackles of the past that can equally haunt or please, is an ordeal,
But they live in the present and work for the future, what else do they feel?