Close-up of sand heart in woman's hands decorated with colorful bracelets

The voices are numb and the noise so dim, chances of movement are oh so slim,
As I imagine It to wriggle out somehow; and bravely take a last intrepid vow.

It musters every ounce of strength, and peppers up with a ferrous will;
It gears feverishly to step forward… But hell, the limbs stare, still.

Puzzled, like a master clockman, It rips open the machinery within,
Resets, reformats, rearranges and rechecks every connecting pin.

Reassured of its flawlessness, armed by its unparalleled solidity;
Forth goes It again, this time with laudable audacity.

The battle rages and questions arise; decisions await their dubious prize;
Mercy becomes a taboo virtue as dilemmas march, old and new.

The scenes though seem familiar and hence, fairly the outcome too;
Why then am I treading this path? Whom am I trying hard to woo?

The duality dawns suddenly, like a thundering bolt from nowhere;
And gets It reeling unobstructed, peeling open the truth, bare.

The choices are strewn all over, that’s how the path is laid;
At every junction, at every instant, the navigators are clearly made.

Pros and cons are listed bold and no way can you miss the citation;
But only those with clarity of purpose can make out the obvious distinction.

It may taste victory this time or be tagged with a loser’s title;
But unique are the ways of life…it places It promptly in another battle.

Thus always giving a chance to prove and many opportunities to improve,
The floor which left It stranded once, to pose in style again and gingerly groove.

Always reminding rather definitively that It may never embrace sorrow;
Just simply name it “experience” and wait for a new tomorrow.

[Image courtesy ]

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