Dreams
by Langston Hughes
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
It truly is a scary feeling when one does not have dreams to hold on to. As you grow up and as the years pass by, ambitions and aspirations alter with the sands of time as well.
Ever since I can remember, I had always wanted to be a teacher. I was never one of those "I want to be a doctor and save lives when I grow up!" kids. Neither was I a "I want to be a lawyer and fight for justice, et cetera" kind of kid. I have always had the desire to make a difference and leave a mark on other people's lives. Then as I grew older, and my passion for books, reading and writing grew, aspirations of becoming a journalist or a writer of sorts formed in my mind. Then later on, the idea of Music as a career path suddenly became an option.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped clinging on to dreams and thought that I will simply take it "one step at a time". But even as it seems deceivingly prudent in taking that option, I realized I have 'lost' something as well. I flounder at times, not knowing exactly what I am working towards. I have desires and plans, but when there are no dreams to work towards, no main goal in sight, Life truly becomes that 'broken-winged bird / That cannot fly'.
I posted up this poem two years ago. Here it is again for convenience's sake.
The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost
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 marked 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.
It's funny how the meaning of a poem can change when you read it again, and see a different facet of it. "Way leads on to way" indeed; I can never return again to that place when I made my decision and chose this path. I often wondered about the last stanza - the poet tells the poem with a sigh.
Sure, he took "the one less traveled by", in the same way I chose to go down this unconventional path, and no doubt "that has made all the difference", but the sigh says a lot. Is it a sigh of relief? A sigh of regret? A sigh of sadness? Sorrow? Defeat? At this point in time, it seems more to me a sigh of heavy-heartedness and a tinge of regret that the poet can never return to the fork in the road again.
Although I may have decided to pursue my passion and interests, thoughts of "what-could-have-beens" haunt me sometimes, and I cannot help but wonder how will my future be affected had I chosen another path instead. I try not to care, but I can't help thinking if I've let myself or my parents down because I chose this "less prestigious" path instead.
"Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back."
There cannot be any more regrets. Because the moment I trod on the leaves of the "grassy" path which "wanted wear", there was no possibility of retracing my steps and making the leaves fresh again.
by Langston Hughes
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
It truly is a scary feeling when one does not have dreams to hold on to. As you grow up and as the years pass by, ambitions and aspirations alter with the sands of time as well.
Ever since I can remember, I had always wanted to be a teacher. I was never one of those "I want to be a doctor and save lives when I grow up!" kids. Neither was I a "I want to be a lawyer and fight for justice, et cetera" kind of kid. I have always had the desire to make a difference and leave a mark on other people's lives. Then as I grew older, and my passion for books, reading and writing grew, aspirations of becoming a journalist or a writer of sorts formed in my mind. Then later on, the idea of Music as a career path suddenly became an option.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped clinging on to dreams and thought that I will simply take it "one step at a time". But even as it seems deceivingly prudent in taking that option, I realized I have 'lost' something as well. I flounder at times, not knowing exactly what I am working towards. I have desires and plans, but when there are no dreams to work towards, no main goal in sight, Life truly becomes that 'broken-winged bird / That cannot fly'.
I posted up this poem two years ago. Here it is again for convenience's sake.
The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost
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 marked 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.
It's funny how the meaning of a poem can change when you read it again, and see a different facet of it. "Way leads on to way" indeed; I can never return again to that place when I made my decision and chose this path. I often wondered about the last stanza - the poet tells the poem with a sigh.
Sure, he took "the one less traveled by", in the same way I chose to go down this unconventional path, and no doubt "that has made all the difference", but the sigh says a lot. Is it a sigh of relief? A sigh of regret? A sigh of sadness? Sorrow? Defeat? At this point in time, it seems more to me a sigh of heavy-heartedness and a tinge of regret that the poet can never return to the fork in the road again.
Although I may have decided to pursue my passion and interests, thoughts of "what-could-have-beens" haunt me sometimes, and I cannot help but wonder how will my future be affected had I chosen another path instead. I try not to care, but I can't help thinking if I've let myself or my parents down because I chose this "less prestigious" path instead.
"Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back."
There cannot be any more regrets. Because the moment I trod on the leaves of the "grassy" path which "wanted wear", there was no possibility of retracing my steps and making the leaves fresh again.
