By Raunak Baral
I have, I have, I have,
Turned into a child again, at heart.
But my experience causes me to be
A bit more cautious.
I have realized that no one can love me
More than myself.
So it is only me with whom I am dealing now.
I, sometimes, get the urge to hurt myself,
But the good sense in me prevails.
But once in a while,
I do, I do hurt myself.
I am strangely in love with the world,
Marvelling at its various facets.
The people, the animals, nature…
Bazaars, colleges, crowded buses.
Or sometimes a walk in the park.
Most people my age are running after money.
I, well, I am running after a dream.
Where money is just a means.
I am in for the experience,
And the ecstasy of reaching my goal,
Or I shall die, maybe.
But my life won’t be at waste,
I have experienced so many things!
But there are so many I haven’t.
And I hear they are lovely!
I shall be like the wind that blows,
Different in nature in different parts of the world.
I shall make my own dictums,
For the path has just taken its own turn.
And it is my path; my path alone,
And I will have to determine how I walk.
Let it be said of me,
That this man built his own path,
And no matter how many times he fell,
His faith in getting up, kept him going.