Imagine the feeling when you come across an old notebook. Specially the one you have forgotten about. And then in that notebook you find pages that reminds you of all the things you have tried in life. You may not have been successful at them, but you still tried. Most of what you wrote, composed, painted etc would not be very appealing. But each of them have memories saved in them.
I accidentally came across my old composition notebook when I was cleaning my room. I had hidden it long, long ago so that no one will read it. I casually brought it back with me and forgot about it again. Last evening, while cleaning up my drawers, I found it and decided to flip through it.
I found several pieces of writing that seemed, now, hilarious. Total junk. I pity my literature teacher who read it and even did a spell check on it. Some writings were, what I then believed, politically relevant ideas. Even now, they look fine to me.
But, above all, I found in that book several sheets of my humble attempts at poetry. I would never ever want anyone to read them, all except one. This one seemed pretty decent to share.
It doesnt have a title, I will try to find something appropriate.
Poem:
My mind is alert as my eyes search.
Cant tell what I am seeking,
As I myself clearly do not know,
I can feel it but not see it
Its hidden yet at hand.
I know I want it
But do not know the means
I know I will find it
But the time is yet to come.
No, I am’nt relying on faith
I am keeping my hopes high
All the things will fall in place
Better judgement will prevail
And help me realize my dream.
Yours Truly,
Vinay Subrahmanya
