My life comes with an expiration date.
As if each day I’m a warrior
Marching to the battlefield
Each day I live is a day I’m not struck by the sword of fate.

As if each day I’m a circus clown
Walking on a rope tied up in the air
Juggling the balls thrown by life
And each day I live is a day
When the wind is not strong enough to blow me down
Or the rope is too strong to hold me.

Sometimes, I look at my parents
Their eyes bright and shining
Their faces happy and their heart grateful
About how much more life has given them
Than they ever imagined.
Amidst the laughter and happy tears
I ask myself “HOW MUCH WILL IT LAST?”

My life is measured in uncertain number of breaths I take
I’m caught up between the ghosts of past and the spirits of future
So much that my present still lies in the parcel box yet to be unwrapped.

Finally, I take a deep breath
As I slowly unwrap the box
Unfurling the surprises that lay inside
Waiting for me to be a part of it.

Finally, I slow down a little.
Taking baby steps
As I put mammoth effort on every little thing I do.
So if my candle burns out abruptly someday
That very work shall be my last legacy
That very poem shall be my earnest offering.