Sitting pen poised, nib horizontally lusting for paper
Thoughts gushing without pause, swirling with ardour.
Flowing like a river, chock-full with ideas and things to write,
Here a phrase, there the quick cliché; nothing too trite.
Now’s the time for truth, our own; not learnt,
Artificiality loses; Caught and by the smart, burnt.
With superficiality the self comes out damaged,
Only the true soul should at this point be engaged
At three in the morning, the room’s bare, there’s only you,
What you see in the mirror is the only thing that’s true
Pouring out with passion, comes honesty, our inner glow,
A gap – an opening; time for the true YOU to flow.
As Kipling so aptly stated with all his “Ifs”,
You can do it all and thus bestow the gifts.
A philosophy to live by – a man’s true measure.
Contentment is the bonus, a fitting treasure.
With a beating heart and confidence by your side,
It will be nothing but a turbulent storm you cannot ride.
So give it all, and mind you keep it true,
And then you will find the path that’s built for you.