You.

"What do you want to do?"

Oh, to ponder this question is a slow poison,

A story too small to capture its essence.

When one embraces everything,

From the tiny cogs of industrialization,

To the functioning of every business,

From the love and genuineness Of foundations and trusts,

To the soulless mechanization Of corporations,

When one can do anything, How does one choose?

"What do you want to do?" The answer eludes even fate itself.

"Run a foundation or businesses, Generate employment or create wealth?"

"Just something that makes me happy, I guess."

"But how is that productive or beneficial?"

"I know it's not, but at least I know what I'd rather do."

"So what would you rather do?"

I'd rather swim from dawn to waning moon,

warm waters during the nights, and cool in the day.

Read from Gita to Quran,

Listen to Krishna's teachings On the responsibility of man,

And from Quran, the ultimate purpose of oneself.

I'd rather write and draw, Cook and eat,

Sleep and dream, Dream of a life where time stops for eternity, And I grow old in the paused second of life,

Till I turn eighty, doing things I love, For the people I love,

anything that makes me happy, Anything but the responsibilities that tie me down.

Oh wicked responsibilities that drain LIFE from life,

That tie me down to one place, one routine, and the same faces,

With the same goals, recognition, and money.

Oh, to wish the world didn't run on money, Would be naive, but a good dream.

So there I'll be, twelve hours a day,

In a predictable routine, surrounded by familiar faces,

Doing predictable things, for predictable goals,

All to make the rest of the day mine, To do what I want, how I want, when I want. Maybe that's life, Maybe that's how it's supposed to be.