Poetry

Reborn

Holding On to the Stick of Hope,
Walking Down the Tight Rope,
Through the Illusion of Belief,
Sieving the Clouds of Grief,
I Tell Myself to Relax.
As a Muscle or Two, I May Flex.
I Presume to Be Winning It All
Who Wants to Lose After All?
Still, I Fail. I Fall.
I Tumble. I Crawl.

The Struggle that Nearly Crushed Me
And That Never Ending Pain.
The Tears Who Tried to Disguise
As I Soaked In the Rain.
All May Seem to Be Going In Vain.
I Cry. Still I Try to Stitch It Up,
Though, Inside, I’m All Torn.
At the Next Stroke of Sunrise,
I Wake Up, I Amass My Pieces.
And I Scream, I Am Reborn.


Photo Credit: Aakash Kothiya

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