Words are few or too many
My thoughts are costlier than a penny
They follow the dictates of my heart
Of myself, they are a vital part
Higher than clouds, my thoughts do soar
Of my basic ideas, they form the core
Pinned to the ends of rainbows of gold
They rise to great heights, in silence, untold
Round they whirl with the wind and the rain
Cyclonic in their strength like Wyatt’s Hurricane
In the eye of the storm is comparative calm
I live them all, without any qualm
My thoughts, in actions, I strive to turn
In the midst of a lot of heart-ache and heart-burn
The wisdom I gain is a costly one
It is no mere jaunt of unrestrained fun
The doubt always rises: Have I done enough
Have I yet proved my innermost stuff
Doubts give rise to doubts, thought to thought
Between complacency and energy a battle is fought.
These thoughts were born along with me
And nurtured by me, with the greatest care
With respect for their various salient points
To voice them, in public, I did dare.
Their repayment to me with now be tenfold
They will take me beyond the pot of gold
For only by expressing them can I hope my words to thrive
And after my death, like evergreen shrubs, survive