is carried on the winds of excitement,
unfurling sails of expectation,
strong breeze of hope,
as traffic rules and caution are flung aside,
become accident prone,
if God forbid its balloon is pricked
the air comes whooshing out
to lie prostrate and deflated,
I'd rather have enthusiasm
vivacious and thrilling, gushing excitement
than prudent apathy and listless mundane
of no ups and downs, dancing and frowns
the fun is in the planning,
hopes and wanting, that gets it done
or maybe not, the unmoved sage
sits in his rocking chair
whiling away the time of day
speaks a wet blanket,
saying its no use,
and i told you so,
ah me
poor man
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem