Every second ahead is a mystery.
A chance for change-
Perhaps for greatness,
Perhaps for imprisonment by penury.
Due to life's quandary which slowly reveals
While often conceals,
We are left with the oh so bittersweet question of
'What's next? '
Empty canvas which aspire greatness
The office floors
Are all rendered powerless to that mere second;
Succumbing to tension and time
Either (we) live stressfully or mindlessly.
No choice but to take what is given;
An inescapable predicament.
'What's next? ...'
Signaling the precarious hands of the clock.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem