Unfulfilled dream: A poem by Richa Srivastava

When you’re born, life is like a new shiny slate…
Crisp, well-crafted wooden corners…hold it together and awaits.

Awaits the hands that will hold it with care…
Scribbling and squiggling move the hands here and there.

Doodling the pictures of a new dream every time…
Those hands would mold you once again even before you start to climb.

And even before you realize it, you are already grown-up…
And the life that was once a clean slate, is now so messed up.

Now when you look back in time…
You find yourself flipping through a collection of ‘unfulfilled dreams’ those hands scribbled every time…

A half learned Guitar lesson…
A job you’re made to quit…just before a well-deserved promotion…
And many more such dreams now lives only in memory lane…

No matter how much you try to clean it hard…
Every scribble leaves behind a trace and a faint mark…
A mark that will always remind you of the attempts you made…
Only to make you realize that life is a game of the choices one makes.