If you can feel the pain of my shattered dreams,
And see through my stillness that wavering strength,
Giving way to hours of restlessness underneath the broken heart,
And the scars and wounds running down my veins;
All red and deep, making it hard to breathe....
If you can hear the unsaid tales of the many battles that I have fought ,
Beyond the winning and losing era,
Without an armour of a silver-spoon,
Forming and reforming the web of life,
Stepping barefoot in the unknown zones.....
If you can write those stories of crawling pain and succumbed wellness,
And turn the pages filled with uncertainties and hopeless times,
And still continue to stay and pour the ink bright,
To manifest the worst or the best that comes alive....
If you can put up an elocution of my trepidations, agitations to yourself alone ;
And not let your faith get flickered by them,
Proceed and make headway in the stumbling path
And yet smile to hide harsh footsore behind.....
If you can find the pieces of those shattered dreams,
And dare to pick them up with tired hands,
To piece them together in canvas of life,
For exhibition in a gallery of journey where my dreams shape up again,
To be fulfilled or to be reformed,as I live and die for them.....
Then I give you the freedom to fathom me,
And to judge my effort.