Author: Lakshya Somani, Class XII C
I come to toil with you again.
You and your cursed village
Of letters and syllables,
Of phrases and metaphors,
Face me, I come to toil with you again.
We find ourselves struck by inspiration
At particularly odd moments,
Or so I’ve noticed, to say the least.
A forlorn corner of an empty room,
A forgotten bench among the groves,
A moment ago, and in the one to come,
Travelling, pacing, waiting, being,
Not quite being.
In half-hearted battles
No one wanted to win,
In the most passionate of struggles,
That see their end before they begin,
But they do begin.
This emotion, perhaps a sin to call it so,
It is filled to no end in futility.
For what is a man without his will?
For what is a man without his purpose?
Into the aging books of history
Do his will and purpose go.
Maybe inspiration yearns to be felt,
It too, after all, needs to be fed
Its fair share of heartache.
Life works in a variety of quotas,
Haven’t you had your fill yet?
Go, struggle. I will join you.
In every moment of your dismay,
In every skipped beat,
I will lend my strength to you
In every war you wage
Against your better judgement.
Let this madness course through you,
As it has through me.
There is no Elysium waiting on the other side,
As you will soon come to see.
