What's Your True Calling?

And it's all about what your true calling in life is. What is it on earth that makes your knees go weak? Where does your innermost interest lie?

After a long span of seven years, when I once again entered the English Literature class, the very first minute I knew that this was where I belonged. That I should never have gone for anything else, should not even have thought of doing something else. That I had been wandering clueless, aimlessly for seven long years and that nothing brought inner peace.

Such similar realization came once again when I entered a huge library full of books on literature. There, standing alone, amongst numerous books around, nothing but books, thousands of them, a sudden realization struck me. I found that I could spend my entire life there and I would not regret a single moment of it. And that I did not want anything else from life.

Literature. Library. Books.

"Literature" is like a very sensuous and beautiful woman who turns me on every single time I think or talk about it (her). I don't consider "literature" to be merely a subject of study. It is a living thing for me, warm and affectionate, and I find peace in her. I talk to her, I feel her, I sniff her through the old books in the old silent library. This library with books on literature is very quite and calm in her composure. Yet, she talks back as I read her. She speaks out loud. It's wonderful to be with her. It's soothing. Time stops. All I want to do is pick out the old books, sit and read them one by one, line by line, word by word, letter by letter. I wanna absorb all that they have into myself. They complete my being.

Write

My hand doth itch
and moves along
with heart that
speaks lines long.

I try and ignore
the words of heart,
they, bursting out,
are falling apart.

I ought to rush
to push them back
or write them out
on empty pad.

So I reach out far
to catch my pen
and hold it out
as do wise men.

Live a life.. or waste it...

There's more to life than this.
Certainly more than what I believe.
And my imagination is limited.
My mind is a little baby.
One who knows nothing.
This baby looks content
With what he sees, what he has.
Although he seeks to explore more,
Yet, being a baby, what can he?
There are more cities than
What I have seen so far
More nations, more worlds,
More planets, perhaps...
Then why am I bound?
Why shrunken only to die?
To die without having lived?
Nah, a straight, plain "NO", I say!
With whatever I have today,
My conscience, my talents, skills,
Howsoever scarce they may be,
I shall set them free to life,
For if I keep them caged, confined,
They would still strive to escape,
And in the process, Lord,
I might just earn a few regards,
But, I shall have wasted a life.