What are you going to do with your life, Dear?

Fortnight ago my Father sat me down

Asked me a question in quintessential way

“What are you going to do with your life, Dear?”

Stumped I was rethinking his words for minute or two

Flabbergasted I was didn’t knew what to say or do

He waited patiently taking sip of amber water

While like the drink in front of me I perspired, as I was startled

I erred, and stumble with ‘I and umm’s”

With clock ticking I hoped to nod and get away with hmm’s

Though I knew my father wouldn’t let this go

So I weaved a tale I knew on father which will grow

Since then I cannot sleep and function

It is like my every move now to life will be diction

Carrying on what without care I could not

If I saw from my father’s eyes I knew I was pulling a con

I was an average student with high-drive mind

My creative ability start with dreaming

And end with grand plans in my gleaming eyes

Yet I’ve not found a road I want to take

Road less travelled or not, right now it doesn’t matter anyway

 

 

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