I am not perfect,I don't aim to be;
I stand in the madenning crowd,
Part of it, yet isolated.
The isolation reflects upon my shadow
While I think I'm ahead of others,
It stands still,silent,a spectator of my quest for perfection
"Life is rising above mediocrity",
the world around me thus advocates.
Creating one's individual niche,
I thus question myself,
"In my quest for perfection,
Aren't I getting lost in mindless mediocrity?"
What then is "Perfection" when everyone seem to be eager to attain?
All our shadows stand a silent testament
While we vie for a place ahead of others
In pursuit of that "perfection"
And I say..."I am really glad
I am not perfect."