Sometimes I take life to be a channel filled with melancholic occurrences drawing strong public criticism, hard to understand, harder to forget. I do not mean a physical war with homo sapiens, nor do i mean peace with the same. At times, life pushes me to extreme conditions where i am left suffocated and scourged for no fault of mine. Its that gruelling struggle for survival that helps vanish the nauseating barricade life has put before me with unceasing interest, enjoying every minute of it, that's it. Its time for a change. How long does it take for one to get tired of being tired? The question remains tough to be answered in the literary sense. After lying submerged in the depths of failure for a long time, i reckon its time i reclaim the reins of my life. The path ahead is like a bed of thorns, unavoidable sufferance guaranteed. Torn and shred to pieces, i pick my battered soul and start my provocative retreat through these isles of excruciating pain without a whimper. I walk with heavy thuds yet let no noise be heard. Where is the camaraderie the untruthful tribes of the world showcased? Even as the beads of sweat pour down my mortalised form, lie suffocating, trying to get a new lease on life, the voices of a thousand ancestors thunder in me, whetting my thirst to drain out the taste of defeat that proves an impediment to my emotional quest further. I shan't take an interval of rest even if my blood desires so in times of weariness. I wont let go until the sweet smell of victory hits my nostrils and challenges me to lie on a bed strewn with petals myriad in colour. Finally my head hits the pillow of the dream envisaged and the varied sacrifices have borne fruit. The mystic road less taken has ended. A new sequel has begun.
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