of sacrifices and lost hopes, of dreams lost and realities found
the scintillating force that unites
the forlorn community, hand in hand
so they may lift this striving young man
up from the downs, the savage world that
he dislikes so much...
Like a ship without a rudder he sails
he sails past the coast, the harbour of love
For him, love is but a mirage
a mirage of sorts in an oasis he calls his desert
desolate, isolate and squandered
he searches high and low on the horizon
he searches till the last drop of energy fades
they say hope is the last thing to die
as if death is in itself a finality
There is victory for all, even for the defeated
For in defeat they see the victories of tomorrow
a tomorrow, that for some never comes
but for some the tomorrow is today
like today ought not ever be yesterday
I believe victory is my cup of tea
a cup of tea not too deep to immerse me
I will but not create a storm in this tea cup of mine
for i savour my victories like the sweet red wine
but, alas I know not who I am, what is me
is it you with whom I speak ?
or is it my own reflection in the mirror that I see ?
Or is it that there are really two of me
if so I shall never share my victory with thee...
© Dr S. N.
Bhagirath (2013)
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