By Niya Ajit Mahale
Falling through despair's abyss,
Ruminating on all the chances missed,
And the battles lost, the tears shed,
Filling your being with impending dread.
Grasping for a ledge not to be found,
In a sea of your own thoughts, you feel drowned.
Maybe an aspirant toiling night and day,
To fulfill a dream that seems far away.
Maybe a woman reduced to subjugation,
Seeking desperately external validation.
Maybe a man whose job is on the edge,
Or the crop has failed, driving a wedge.
Maybe the innocent proven guilty,
In ways unjust, immoral, and filthy.
Be it an institute or a prison,
Mankind goes through pain without reason.
No trauma is too small or too lame,
Pain, after all, knows no name.
As a trembling hand inches toward the hangman’s noose,
Remember, in haste do not choose.
Throw your weapon into the shadows, be it knife or gun,
And gaze toward the beaming sun.
Remember how it is vanquished each night,
They say, get out of our very sight.
But in the morning, it comes back stronger,
And shines brighter, stays much longer.
No matter how worthless you feel,
Try your best to keep an even keel.
Remember, we are all stars in our own way,
Like the sun, live to see another day.
There’s always a way out of the tunnel,
Like a mole that digs with patient muscle.
Dig deep within to find that gritty resolve,
And in a flash, your world may evolve,
From victim to victor of your destiny.
Friend, I cannot lie:
The road is hard, the thorns prick deep,
But try not to wail and weep.
This thorny path has been walked by millions,
And somewhere, a hand will reach in kindness,
To pull you out, but you must shout,
Not cower in the dark looms of silence.
Emerge through the burning fire,
Like Sita Devi, pure and chaste.
You have won the war with poise and grace.
Thus begins a new horizon,
With the light at the end of the tunnel behind you.
A new dawn beckons,
Forage into the lush greenery with joy and pride.