To live in pencil lines,
As if drifting along the path of an arrow,
Creating boundaries; where lines should go,
Are lines not dots moving in a particular flow?
Life in pencil lines, a genies role,
Even if drawn before i was born,
Undo it myself, my eraser screams,
and say it myself, my pencil smudges,
Can even create the King's dreams,
How do you want it my mind says,
sketching you plans till the final days,
When ideas speaks in mortar gray,
Then my best work should be myself,
Creating beautiful mind on life's canvas,
With ultimate achievement around through the universe,
the requisite need of a fulfilling destiny.
With life in pencil lines,
The only regret may;
be the one who sketches plans,
Without the plan of his own life.
I have never even thought of a poem like this one before or even read one like this sort. It was very creative to tell you the truth. I think I shall remember it for a long time.
I have never thought of my life in line drawings, but it is a great thought. I like the way you have constructed this poem, and yes, I wish we could rub out somethings in our lives which weren't exactly perfect. Thanks for making me think afresh. Good write. love Ernestine XXX
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I agree with you Olabode, with the content of your message I mean: one of the best of yours that I have read. You have a deeply unusual, pensive approach - and a way with words to boot. t x