It’s never really easy to go against the grain.
To turn your back and shut your ears, to step onto the lane.
A lane filled with hardships, distractions, the unknown.
To forsake a pre-planned future and to try and forge one’s own.
The comments and the lectures, raining from above.
From the older and the wiser who persistently shove.
Shove me towards a life of black and white and grey.
Of offices and cubicles, to a place where I can’t say
Say things that I feel, and feel I need to write.
A fate devoid of soul and art, a most devastating plight.
For what am I without my words, my poems, my books, my plays?
I’m nothing but a robot existing in a haze.