By Parth Nijhawan
In the hall of mirrors, I stood still
Lacking all features of life and thrill
Saw myself in different colours, different shades of existence
Molding into vivid emotions, of melancholy and exuberance
Free and fettered all at once, in concocted fictitious chain.
All efforts to uplift, to change, all go waste and vain.
In puddle of quicksand, I struggle for breath.
No will to live, yet no courage to embrace death.
Body so dead from inside. yet appears so alive.
How one would grow, if it has lost all will to thrive?
In this tussle to survive, I sincerely pray for rescue.
To stroke me out of pain or plunge the knife through.
I plead to the God to make me, a pebble in next inning.
Or a little squirrel, who would spend all his day grinning.
Or maybe a sapling, which yields fruits so sweet.
A majestic peacock dancing in rain or a flying parakeet.
But my dearest lord, pray don't put me again in this flesh.
With fate so unforgiving, putting me always enmesh.
All I yearn for is a new form, a completely new chance.
An opportunity to see this world from a different stance.