Destiny In Your Own Hands - Poem by Emmanuel Oduro
Who decides what one becomes in future?
Is it God, one's parents or oneself?
Is it one's headteacher, teachers or friends?
If it is God, then how unfair;
Too many unsuccessful people,
Too few successful people.
But God's stand is crystal clear,
This in His Holy Book unambiguous upheld.
I place before you life and death,
The choice is clearly yours to make.
God is first and foremost,
Fatherly-fair and free-minded,
Wishing you all you wish yourself,
Placing your destiny at the proper place.
Providence is yours to decide.
If my parents, then I better relax.
No parent will visit failure on his child,
Every parent will wish their children well.
Success, they will thrust on their children
But for their effort to bear fruits,
It must be nourished and nurtured.
That legacy reared and raised right,
Makes a magnificent mark on a mind
But under utilised or unused,
Patently becomes pearl pitched to pigs.
No matter what one's parent does,
Ones future is in one's own hands.
Your destiny is in your own hand.
Head teachers and teachers can play their part,
Working hard to make, mold and model you,
Striving faithfully to form and fashion you
For a fulfilling and flattering future.
But their toil will forlornly be fully futile,
Without you complementing fittingly
To steer your fortune favorably.
Your fate, surely, is in your hands
The gospel truth, tested and proven is,
Your destiny is in your own hands.
You can definitely become,
What you devotedly desire to be.
Nobody can deny you that.
God has given you the option
To become a prominent professional
Or to become a vile villain
What would you prefer to be?
Goaded on by this trusty truth,
I would strive strenuously to be a giant.
I would dig deep to get to gold.
I would toil tirelessly to touch my target.
A giant I would definitely be
So help me God.
Comments about Destiny In Your Own Hands by Emmanuel Oduro
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You