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Poem

I may well dream to be someone I’m not,
Wing my way to become Wordsworth or Frost,
And lose my roots, get in a lifelong rot
To lose self-worth and live a life of ghost,
On board a bullet train of becoming,
In world of books, still bogged down on page one, 
Not my own, but play an alien inning,  
And lose the game that I could well have won.              

If only I try to be not but me,
None else but one designed by destiny
To play a unique role like none any,
I would have made my Creator happy.
   No one hath He e’er made in idle mirth,
   Let me pursue His will, my unique worth. 
_____________________________________ 
Sonnets |01.06.2023| dilemma, life 

Poet’s note: Each moment that unfolds is a place man has not been to. He should stay there as much as can and try to be one with it to find himself. One cannot ‘become’ without ‘having been’ in the first place. To become a butterfly might be worm’s ultimate destiny. But can it happen by the very morrow? Everything passes to the process of becoming, but only having been before. It is the law of change. To be what we are comes long before becoming what we are capable of. That be the only end in life. Let me hasten slowly not to get stranded in the world of becoming. This be the dominant note of this sonnet’s melody.

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