It’s never really easy to go against the grain.

To turn your back and shut your ears, to step onto the lane.

A lane filled with hardships, distractions, the unknown.

To forsake a pre-planned future and to try and forge one’s own.

The comments and the lectures, raining from above.

From the older and the wiser who persistently shove.

Shove me towards a life of black and white and grey.

Of offices and cubicles, to a place where I can’t say

Say things that I feel, and feel I need to write.

A fate devoid of soul and art, a most devastating plight.

For what am I without my words, my poems, my books, my plays?

I’m nothing but a robot existing in a haze.