Eight years into making
Eight years of being my own king.
Of cries, of the smiles,
I have covered a thousand miles.
Yet I feel that I have not yet begun
Yet I feel the song is yet to be sung
The age, continues its gallop ahead,
The glow of skin continues its unabated fade.
Yet I feel I have yet to start,
There is an entire inventory lying in my dream mart.
So much to do, so much to grow
Yet I idle away my time as foe.
Still waiting to make my mark,
Still waiting to emerge of my dark
I know I am not weak,
The sympathies of time I don’t seek.
I cannot yet tap down,
At life I can’t force a frown.
I cannot yet raise my hands,
I haven’t yet conquered the lands.
I cannot for I haven’t yet entered the ring,
I cannot for I haven’t yet begun to sing.
I have been late I know,
But than never starting its better to start slow.
My demons I shall now face.
Eight years ; I am ready to start the race.