One more time, Frost

Chanced upon my favourite poem from my favourite poet one more time.

I guess I never tire of reading this one. Here it is.

THE ROAD NOT TAKEN

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

- Robert Frost

a goan hangover

In the silence of the Valley

Write in the morning

I wonder why I write. I wonder why I don't. I wonder how my day begins and ends - I don't really know sometimes what happens between waking up and going to bed. Sometimes I almost kill myself writing. Sometimes, there’s a hardly ever a word that jumps off the tip of my pen’s nib (Oh yeah, I write the old way too). Not writing anything is a worse death. I truly dread that.

15 years on since I first started scribbling for a living, I go on. And I am not bored of it yet. I thought I will, at some point. But I am not. I have met people who quit. I have met those who quit to do better things. I have met people who are bitter because they quit. I have met people who gave up because they found business management. And me? I write and I also do a whole lot of other things that include running a business and a home. 

I guess the question is, what am I writing today?