WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?

Picture Courtesy:www.blog.1choice4yourstore.com


What were you thinking?
A dear friend asked me once,
She set me thinking,
Like some wound up device,
I began fidgeting
More than once
Stuttering
Consecutively in three, that’s thrice,
In answering,
I realized no single answer did suffice.


Imagine a young man,
Fresh out of high school or secondary school,
Whichever of the two you think is cool,
Dreaming of a university degree,
Maybe even juggling two degrees,
In the space of four years,
By now you probably think me queer,
He must have had a few too many beers.


Funny me,
Silly you,
No beers here,
Just a young man in dreaming years,
Eccentric, maybe a wee bit queer,
I sure did dream of two degrees,
Possibly getting those in four short years,
Why?
I wish that were as simple as apple pie,
Sigh,
Hold onto your hats, we’re going sky-high.


I’d be crazy if I said I did not want a creative writing degree,
Is there even such a degree?
That probably might require a decree,
Tee-hee
I have no idea,
But that was the idea,
I’d probably go through that barely breaking sweat,
I’m not a braggart,
Just a nut,
With paper in his ears,
And eyes pregnant with verbs and conjunctive tears.


But there was a catch,
I was not alone in this cabbage patch,
Parental guidance,
Necessary, a perquisite in such an instance,
Where there’s an over-abundance of youthful exuberance,
The oldman said, you are free to choose,
You can even study to become a goose,
Just convince me son,
Throw me a line,
You just might have me hook-line-and-sinker,
All I want for you is a profession,
Not something that leaves you lost in translation.


In truth, writing is no profession
In our part of the world,
Books that sell here are textbooks,
And other educational material,
With parents struggling with tuition,
Just so they can provide an education,
Would you fault them calling
Tales of fiction,
And anthologies with rhyme and diction,
A meal too spicy for their digestion?


A writing degree was off the cards,
No need for protests and placards,
Choice of profession?
That’s no question,
Silly me, this quagmire almost gave me a concussion,
Every hobo knows 1 + 1 equals 2,
Thanks to this, Maths was quickly lost at sea,
Physics, aperture and focal lenses,
All those just make me want to take leave of my senses,
I needed something that allowed imagination,
Left you feeling proud as though you gave birth to creation,
With fewer rules, instructions and equations
I almost towed the line of architecture,
But these hands are incapable of drawing circles,
Shrubs, avatars and cute figures,
So I settled on Civil Engineering,
Those guys build houses, harbours, airports,
Highways, I bet they could even bake bread.
Given half the chance,
I just might have done one thing a wee bit different
Back then,
I would have put my S.A.T score to much better use,
I just might have ended up with two degrees from a foreign
Land had I tried much harder.
Then again, in doing so,
I just might not have met you,
Had I tried that harder,
I probably would have become a better writer,
But I doubt I’m that terrible a writer today,
Besides this is just a beginning,
Not an end,
Several chapters of this story remain unwritten,
Though I wish I could take a quick peek at how it ends,
But come what may,
Remember this much,
I never say never,
That’s my forever never.