Stifled dreams and ideas have become a norm in organisations with rigid hierarchy in its ranks. Often, the passion for satisfaction in his work has become secondary to the boss’s approval in this system. But there’s an antidote.


Flurry of arrows, the boss held,


Rained upon me, yelled me to quit.


Done with the tasks, never,


For the lever was on, forever,


Work kept piling up, on all four sides,


Till it fell over me, like the tower of Babel,


Tearing me apart, from the insides,


And the boss fumed, with a lot of babble,


For the stone I was, I never did hear,


The work had drained me, my ideas,


Everything went colourless, and grim.



My child, long forgotten, my passion,


Thoughts to words, then to actions,


It led me steady and straight


Till I was the boss of mine.


My own company, I had it made,


A door it opened, to a better life,


Breaking all ropes, that bound me,


And I was up there, flying up still


For my idea had granted me wings!


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