The present rocks the fragile self with multifarious tasks to perform; suffocating , overshadowing its identity.
Like the wind that always flow I move on sometimes complaining,Sometimes unaware to the future through the turbulent waters of time.
Just laze around and doing mundane things in the garb of relaxation, I often feel why my life is so predictable.
For most of my actions are covered in the sheet of duties , responsibilities, job and my creative soul lurks behind the dominance of so called routine.
For every stroke of paintbrush I sacrificed ,
I painted an achieving life…
For every flow of words my pen sacrificed ,
I wrote my story of progress…..
From school, to college, to now work I drifted through space and time laden both with happiness and tears.However , in the wake of prioritising,I abandoned my brainchild , my creativity.
I think therefore, from now on my interests should not be some black words written in my resume , they should be like babies , which grow only by nourishing.I shall now follow those inherent and sweet pursuits which are not just routine….
“Without passion man is a mere latent force and possibility, like the flint which awaits the shock of the iron before it can give forth its spark."
— Henri Frederic Amiel
