Trying to predict what the future has in store,
But all I see is a rainbow stretched,
Far across the cloud in the sky.
Never could ascertain anything for sure,
Now leaving everything to chance,
And for it we roll a dice,
The past, present and future,
Only time will tell.
Could remember my youthful days,
When abacus did the counting,
Then! it did dominate the world of mathematics,
But now it is all history,
All that is left of it are stories,
Passed down generations.
Even as i advance in years,
There hasn't been much of a difference.
One president after another,
They continue in the same trend as the former,
But i had indeed hoped for that day,
When for the better things change,
When I could indeed eat apple in my comfort zone,
And never afraid to call anywhere home.
Behold! The fruit of transformation seemingly refusing to germinate,
A mask I wore to conceal my shame,
Since my vision refuse to materialise,
There I was, an aged man fragile
Double bent on a walking stick,
Seeing my hope disappear into thin air,
But was it just an illusion?
I refuse to die before I see another sun rise,
Not to rest until hope re-ignites,
Never to sleep until the frustration stops,
But what can an old man do than hope,
To witness a better tomorrow.
This is my entry to
@robyneggs Poetry dice challenge with the theme transformation
Image courtesy of