Eleven At Night Poem by BASAB CHAUDHURI

How best do I live the rest of my life?
Do I hold life in my hand and make it disciplined?
Do I allow it to flow as if it is a stream?
Do I remain indifferent to life as I have been all through?
They are thoughts that come to my mind -
like cloud.
Not that there will be thunderstorm here and now,
not that the rains will sweep me away....
nevertheless, days are passing by rather fast,
I am an observer who has suddenly been made aware of...
that the station is not too far off,
that I have to get down like everyone else,
of course, in a sense that you perhaps understand....
these questions, what ifs.....
come to mind at night like nightflies.
I want to ignore them, but they move around my head.

How best could I......?

Is it too late now to think?
Who knows!