By Meher Gandhi
I think of the journey and from where I started.
Though still, I stand in the sands that once held the crowd, my fear;
So, I let this sand hold on to my pain and each one of my tear.
Who knows what will be made of me when I turn back to see all that I defeated?
For now, I am left standing on these sands depleted.
I might shatter into a thousand pieces but they say every piece of gold shines;
And I can tell you for sure, in here there are no gold mines.
When I rise on this deserted path to see the horizon, all I see is the visage of that one fighter;
So, when I rise to see the horizon I let it show me the mirror.
I stand, and here I stand with blood oozing out of all the wounds created by the sudden breakdowns;
Cries of you and cries of me cannot be heard in these boundary-less grounds.
So, I shout with all my left might for I may not be able to shout again;
Has all the endurance I once had gone in vain?
I wander and wander in search of an exit but more and more I roam, the more I feel this desert to be home.
I fall and stay in the hope of never rising again but the king of isolation gives me his hand again.
So, I rise once more on this deserted path to see the horizon, but all that comes in view is the visage of that one fighter;
Now, I rise and let it show me the mirror.