WHEN THE DAYS WERE YOUNG
In the customised prototypes
All hands knew what to write
The image to sketch
The graffiti to inscribe
We all knew the episodes to act
And the theme was clear
Clear enough, crystal clear
But the innocent mouths only blabbed
And wisacre parents designed
Paths.....And they decided:
Who follows which paths
Capable or incapacitated
They made doctors in a single night
And an accountant is just a wink
All became chartered in one week
They decided in just a trance:
Whom to be a surgeon amongst us
They made lawyers with mere words
Only with words of mouth....
And the innocent wards grew...
Those made to work with pen
took spades
The ones made to wallow in black oils
took wheels
The ones to work with seeds took a clipper
And everything turned up-side-down
What about the handwriting?
I mean the one on the prototypes?
When the day was young
Some even found it done
But bought nothing from it.
An accountant dying wretched
A medical doctor with destiny in classroom
A farmer ,now an auto mechanic
They all got it wrong
When the day was young.
We designed career paths
We gave it a follow-up
Befitting follow-up,I mean
We got it right
Seemingly....
Some got it wrong
Some fell in-between
They expect our woe.
But they ended in the doom they Set
the doom still favours them
While we still think of fulfilment
©popinjay
P