All My Tomorrows
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Poetry has to draw a lot from philosophy, but then essentially it is one's feelings concentrated. Serving too much of philosophy in poetry is like forcing a beautiful woman to wear loads of ornaments that do not enhance her beauty but distort it. I know this, yet a poem such as this had once flowed out of me.
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All My Tomorrows
Future, a condensed mass of possibilities
Tomorrows stacked upon
the tangled bed of chances
Events trickle, clocks tick,
Loves sprout, and lives dawdle
Step by step, nanoseconds.
The repetition cycle
called the future, the self-propelled
rhyming like a meaningless metred verse,
It has one for everyone
measured to be meted out
by turn or on demand.
Who says it is all surprises,
unthinkable that defies prediction?
Is death an unpredictable phenomenon?
Those that baffle are the uncountable
trivials
Of giving and gaining, and losing or
leaving
Repeated for a billionth over.
Future, the abode of hopes
A receptacle that holds today’s wants
sidestepped
frustrations sweet-coated and vendetta
carried forward,
It is elusive like dreams and dreamy like
illusions.
So, the future is here for everyone
It’s here to
end the tyranny called the present.
Bhubaneswar//11-06-2006
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By
A N Nanda
Coimbatore
10-4-2012
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