Tuesday, 21 June 2016



Walking currently:

I won, not
A prize, a battle,
A competition,
Nor a draw.

I won, not
Any tangible,
But maturation,
In the humanity's maw.

Possessing power,
A visage deserted of covetousness,
On behalf of my heart,
That only intended to aid.

A few steps backwards:

Extreme possession,
of that uncontrollable ability.
Led me to reflect myself internally:
Sheer obsession to aid.
Though and yet I suffered:
Sheer ignorance
Sheer ostracisation
Sheer dispair
Until and after
The sky clad itself,
A farewell to the sun,
Which wasn't ever bright enough,
To fight the darkness that followed it.

Forecasting the end of my trail:

Fate, a misery.
Even when success lies at my feet,
Jealous rest, grasp my chemise,
Willing to eat me off,
To suppress and bury
That wonderful ability:
Later I mastered.
All that
To manifest a superior margin
Of themselves.

I won, not.
A question indeed,
A vanquished fight against the resentful: just like a sacrificial piece,
Or, loosing that power, strong enough to impact the world?
Like an argument is whirling in my head which I can't overcome,
Like the palpable situation, I won or not?