Little he was in the hands of his mother,

Till he grew before her eyes,

Cute to handsome, his face had changed.

Distorted are his thoughts,

And young his blood.

Short is his sight,

Though he wears no glasses.

Small is he in life,

Though tall he seems to be.

Wrong may be his vision,

Though he believe it is right.

'All that glitter is not gold', they teach him.

Yet, he is carried away,

By the mirages of the world so wide.

Seldom does he know,

'Not all that is gold glitter.'

The road of life is so deceptive,

Yet so definite and decisive.

It is tricky and yet simple.

He sees them for the first time, and he falters.

People known and unknown,

Are the signposts of these roads,

Yet it is his decision,

That decides his destiny.

A road so twisting and turning,

And yet so straight,

Along which he must ride, under sun and moon.

The sky may grow pale or bright,

And ground dusty or lush green.

Yet, he shall ride his way.

He knows no land beyond the river,

Or over the mountains,

To which the road he choose may take him.

Yet a strong will he has,

That is harder than a rock,

And does not wither under sun or snow.

His will is his hope,

And in his hope lies his future.

What future holds, he can't say.

But he chooses his destiny, and lives it.

Bright days may turn black or evil,

And not a ray of hope may be seen, but

From the shadows a ray shall come,

Leading him to brighter days,

Like a rainbow after a storm.

He may stare ahead,

On the unfinished road,

Wondering how far or how near,

Is its end.

Miles shall flee under his feet,

And years like gale over his head,

And he learns more,

With each twist on the road.

Each mile covered,

Teaches him more,

Years behind him sharpens his ears,

Deeper shall his eyes become,

And wealthier his heart.

He now sees the winters and springs ahead,

With the eyes of the long gone seasons,

Each summer shall pass.

Making his mind broader,

And his hair lesser.

Each spring shall sprint away,

Making his legs feel weaker,

But mind stronger,

Each Christmas shall gift him,

A new stick to lean on,

A new hope to live on.

When he sees far ahead,

Though he may then wear glasses,

When he becomes taller in life,

Than what he seems to be in sight,

And when right is his vision,

Though his children believe it is wrong,

He shall begin to see,

The end of the long road,

That he had covered in life.

Then may be the time when he looks back,

Down the long winding road of life,

To cherish the beauty

Of the first flower he saw after winter,

The greatness

Of the people who were around him.

And now there he is,

At the end of the road,

Knowing his end is near,

He too now serves as a signpost,

In the lives of his younger ones.


This was originally written some time in Nov-Dec 2002 and is the first poem that I remember to have penned down.

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