Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Poet? Writer? Well, whatever,. . . . .I just love writing

I wanted to be rich and famous,
With a name that is not anonymous,
To enjoy the best things in life,
Married to a beautiful wife.
Driving the best wonders on wheels,
and guaranteed of my daily meals.
So i looked up the list of professions,
But my mind was caught up in confusion,
Asking people for recommendation,
only help increased my heart's commotion.
i decided to think things through on my own,
so that the decision would be my own.
I thought long and hard on what to do,
But none of the professions I saw was cool.
My mind yearned for something as natural as nature,
That would relate to any culture.
I tried my hand at singing,
But of notes and lyrics I had no inkling
I tried to draw,
But it seems I had hands made of claws.
I tried to be a politician,
But it was not honest enough as the profession of a technician.
I tried my hand at boxing,
But I ended up with so much beating.
I tried dancing,
But I felt like a chicken flapping
I tried to be a teacher,
But got rejected by my own daughter.
I tried my hand at cooking,
but i seems to always cook what i was burning
Then I tried writing,
And I enjoyed it like kissing.
So I weighed my options,
With a view of solving my heart’s commotion.
I gave serious thought to be becoming a poet,
It made me feel like a flirt.
Could I really become famous by writing poems?
Is that not like getting high on petrol fumes?
What could I write about?
I asked people around.
I wrote about money,
But my lines were simply corny.
I wrote about love,
But I was still on love’s learning curve
I wrote about how to eat honey,
Well, at least my lines were pretty funny.
So I decided to just flow naturally,
Not letting my lines be done too carefully,
I stayed to enjoy myself,
This I must confess.
Thus writing became my passion,
though not yet my profession

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