Once again, I pick up my pen,

to write out my thoughts,

hustle and bustle as they rush

in my cobwebby mind,

where confusions, as mental spiders,

crawl all over, spinning yarns,

and make me tarry for peace and calm.

Oh ! Why can’t things be a simple yes or no ?

Cuz nothing would help me as much.

Say, what do I wish to do ?

I know I love to write ;

but then, I can’t do just that all my life,

Cuz most probably, I am not that good

as others are in the art,

I am not a natural, that is.

Of course, I could always learn

and do better, but would that suffice ?

Then again, I always wished, nay, wanted

to help people, all around me,

in their troubles and sorrows.

maybe I can’t help the masses,

but wouldn’t it make a difference

if I just look after a small child,

who never had anything in life to lose it ?

See, looks a simple question, ne ?

But the reply ? Endless it is.

Everything appears hazy,

outlines of many doors just visible

as they spin around in my head ;

each equally appealing and mysterious

yet none I dare to open and enter

and turn my back to the others.