The Written Word

Dear God

Something, somehow;

Anything, anyhow;

Please do something-

Make it better;

In this world of peace and crimes,

I know you will answer sooner or later.

I've only looked up,

Never down

But nothing ever went right

I lost time, not hope;

Just let my wishes in your sight.

You're my mother, my father, my Guardian Angel;

I know you looked at me sometime

You know of my existence and that I seek your blessings

Just shower me with some illuminating, faithful light.

Dear God, I don't still ask for riches of the world,

I wouldn't spare them another glance!

If only you'd just listen to me,

All I ask for, is to be able to dance.

Author's Note:

I don't know how much of sense this poem would make to you, probably none at all; but it tells the most vital story of me.

Apart from loving to write, I'm a dancer at heart, and my lovely parents absolutely refuse to understand that. No, fitness, physique, and health related stuff doesn't matter to them at all (which I more than just hate), and the fact that I love to dance? Unmanageable.

Why do we teenagers have problems more than we can face?! 

I swear I'm going to write a whole book on 'How To Survive With Your Parents.' I love them and all, but they don't know the value of passion and chasing dreams- the worst part.

There are so many 'if only(s)...' in life.